Destiny, Making of
by richardbrown
Summary: The events in her life are scheduled like a bus route , with no road construction or detour signs ahead. The road she travel is littered with drugs, violence,deceit,prostitution.betrayal,money,abuse and murder.


**DESTINY, THE MAKINGS OF**

**Written by**

**Richard Brown**

**Chapter 1**

"The heart has its reasons which reason knows not of." Pascal

"Push, Tiffany, push," ordered the doctor. All Tiffany could see was bright lights when she opened her eyes. The room was cool, but the smell was clean and sanitized. Her eyes moved around the windowless room. She was feeling so much pressure and pain in her stomach. She thought she was going to die. There were people standing around her whispering to each other. It appeared all eyes were on her. 'They're talking about me,' she thought to her self. But it was her mind simply playing tricks on her from the crack she smoked before her water had broken.

The night was so fresh in her mind. She caught a hundred dollar trick. She had not been in Utica, New York, but a very short time. She wasn't really familiar with the city, but what was there to be familiar with? It was the size of a neighborhood compared to where she had been. She didn't need to know where the red light district was, any corner she stood on became it.

She picked up the trick right outside of her hotel room on North Genesee Street. Or should it be said that he picked her up? Whatever the case may be, she ended up with him in a strip club. After a few drinks and some nice talk, she had him take her to Hopper Street where she knew Bobbi would be hustling. She understood how men would give up their money with just a promise of the thrill. This is why they are called tricks.

The trick didn't have far to go. Bobbi was standing on the corner of Hopper and Park Avenue. "Let me out here honey." Tick Tack Said. Very few people knew that Tiffany was Tick Tack's birth name. She doesn't volunteer information. Her motto is, what someone doesn't know, they can not turn and use it against you.

"I hope we can do this again sometime." the driver said.

"Anything is possible." Tick Tack assured him as she opened the car door and shut it behind her.

Bobbi was already approaching the car, when she noticed Tick Tack getting out.

"Hey girl, what's up? Bobbi asked as she embraced her.

"Checking on you girl. Plus, I need to get my smoke on. I called your house and your mother told me you were out, and you know where I'm checking first." Tick Tack nonchalantly answered. Bobbi just stood there looking carefully at her to see if she was playing. She knew Tick Tack wasn't a real crack smoker. She could count the number of times on one hand she had smoked in the last several months. It just wasn't her thing. Why she smoked, Bobbi didn't have a clue. So her request took her by surprise, indeed.

"What's wrong?" Bobbi asked after she determined that she was serious. "You haven't messed with that shit in months."

"What! Something has to be wrong because I wanna get high?" Tick Tack asked as if Bobbi was out of order for questioning her.

"No, of course no," she answered hesitatingly. "I just…"

"I know baby girl," Tick Tack said cutting off her embarrassment. "Thank you for your concern. Now that we're pass the shock and sentimental crap, where can we get something at?"

"I only have…"

"Girl, cut the crap," Tick Tack once again cutting her off. "It's on me. Let's just do this."

"The dude in the next house is doing sixteenths," she said pointing to the house next to where they were standing on Park Avenue. "But the niggah smoke so you know how things are going down."

"Then we better get there before he smokes it up."

Tick Tack didn't have a clue as to why she wanted to smoke crack. She wasn't into smoking that shit. But something was pulling at her. She didn't like getting high on anything but life. But something about smoking that crap brought her into a different zone. The short time she had smoke, she had become tired of watching the dark entrance of the cave waiting for God knows what to come out.

Something had brought her out of the comforts of her hotel room, she had no idea. Further more, what brought her to Utica, New York still baffled her. All she can remember is chilling in her room. The next thing she knew, she was at a strip bar talking to some guy that was in love with her belly. She didn't even remember getting dressed. She had this overpowering desire to smoke crack and it was freaking her out. The wheels of destiny were turning. She decided to just roll with it and see what turned up. She left the bar with the guy.

The building was not quite dilapidated, but close to it. The walk down the driveway to get to the back was long, in her mind anyways. "Can we smoke here?" Tick Tack asked.

"For a hit, we can burn down the house," Bobbi jokingly said. Tick Tack stopped and bent over slightly, grabbing her stomach. "You alright," Bobbi asked in concern.

"Yeah, she just kicked me as if she was ready to make her appearance or warning me," Tick Tack said as her hands went to her thighs. She exhaled and straightened up.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to mess with that stuff. It's always another day. Maybe she's telling you the same thing."

"Thank you once again for your concern." Tick Tack said, ending it there. When they entered the building, the stale odor was unavoidable. They climbed the four steps and Bobbi knocked on the door.

"I hope she don't wanna make her appearance tonight." Bobbi added. Tick Tack ignored the remark. Bobbi knocked on the door again, this time harder.

"Wait a fuckin' sec," someone yelled from behind the door.

"I meant to tell you, they call this house, the frown house." Before the words could leave her mouth, the door opened up. The smell of everything but fresh air rushed out. Both Tick Tack and Bobbi frowned as if they were sucking on a sour ball.

"Damn!" It was all that Tick Tack could say as her hand shot to her nose.

"After a few seconds, you get past the smell. Now you know why it's called the frown house." Bobbi said unable to restrain from laughing. "What's up Jeff?"

"Same old think. What's up with you?" Jeff asked, unable to pull his eyes away from Tick Tack. Tick Tack just stared back at him. His odor said a lot. His body had not seen water in weeks. His nappy hair looked as if it would just turn to dreadlocks. And he was skinny enough to be mistaken for a street pole. She could not determine if he was that black or it was the dirt mixed in the body oil. "What's up with yo girlfriend?" He asked as if she couldn't wait to get with him.

"Niggah please, you can't dream that big." Bobbi snapped.

"That's what they all say out the gate, till, the crack master get a hold of them. I'll just be patient."

"It's not patience you need," Tick Tack said, speaking for the first time. "You need a magic wand, not a stem."

"Jeff," Bobbi bringing his attention back to her. "We're not here for that shit. You got a real sixteenth?'

"What do you mean by that, bitch?" Jeff asked as if he was offended.

"You know what I mean. One you haven't been trickin out of." Bobbi countered quickly. At that moment, the bathroom door opened up and Tracy walked out.

"Hi." She said to no one in particular. She was known to drug dealers as a crack ho. She would crew a piece of shit just a hit off the stem. She would turn flips with no hands. Tick Tack and Bobbi just looked at each other. Tick Tack had seen her type many times and in many places. She could never understand how a woman could take herself down to such a low level. She would bargain with the Devil for so little as a hit off a stem that didn't promise to have residue in it.

Jeff reached into his pocket and brought out three cut corner baggies, individually tied, containing a white rock substance. Tick Tack looked at them and then at Bobbi. There was no need for words. They knew from their own experience that neither one of them were sixteenths. And two were shorter in weight. This told them that he had already been in them.

"Jeff," Bobbi took the lead, "what you want for this little shit?" She asked taking the biggest of the three.

"Eighty."

"Niggah," Bobbie shouted. "We're not trying to take care of yo smoking habits."

"Bitch!"

"Here," Tick Tack interrupted, handing the money to Jeff, putting a stop to the exchange.

"We are gonna take a hit here." Bobbi said.

"I don't give a shit, as long as the house gets its piece." Jeff said holding out his hand. Tick Tack wanted to inform him that the house has already taken its piece from the little shit she just paid eighty dollar for, but she held her tongue.

"Can I get a hit girlfriend?" Tracy asked Bobbi in a pleading tone.

"We don't have a dick, bitch. We're rent-a-pussy." Bobbi said grabbing Tick Tack's arm, leading into the so-called living room.

The living room had a couch that looked like the person who owned it should be charged with a crime, possession of a hazardous material. A coffee table in front of the couch had so many cigarette and stem burns, it looked like a part of its design. The windows had no curtains or blinds, just sheets held up by nails. You would have to ask yourself, were human beings really living in this mess? The sheets at one time could've been white but looking at them now, you couldn't tell. You would need a chemical analysis to determine all the different stains on it. The floor was littered with cigarette butts, beer cans, and bottles. A used condom was lying in the corner by the window. 'At least someone was thinking.' Tick Tack thought to herself as she looked around. Near the entrance to the living room, a cardboard box was being used to hold a lamp without a shade on it to provide a harsh light. There were chips of broken glass all over the floor from broken stems and only God knows what else. The room was reminiscent of a garbage dump. Tick Tack questioned her sanity for a moment as her eyes gave the room a second inspection.

Just as an animal seeks its prey to satisfy its own survival, junkies, crack users and alcoholics seek to satisfy the many dilemmas and illusions of their lives. She thought for a moment that dope fiends will buy a bag of heroin before buying a sandwich. Crack users will buy crack before feeding their children. Alcoholics will buy wine before a pair of boots in the dead of winter. There is no compromising. They have a desire that needs fulfilling and the force is too powerful for them to resist, just as it was for her at that moment.

Tick Tack and Bobbi split the sixteenth on the coffee table after giving Jeff a small piece. Jeff and Tracy went back into the bathroom. Tick Tack took a piece of rock from her pile, packed it into her stem and wrapped the rest back up and placed it in her sock at the top of her boot. She looked over at Bobbi who was stuffing her stem with twice the amount than she had used. "You're one greedy bitch." Tick Tack said humorously just staring at her. Bobbi ignored her as always. She placed the stem to her lips. She was about to flick the lighter. "Oh! No bitch, get your shit off the table and put it away before you claim somebody went into your stuff. I'm not in the mood to go through that with you tonight."

Bobbi took the remainder of her stuff off the table. Picked up a piece of paper off the floor, wrapped it in, balled it up and placed it in her bra. She was holding her stem in the other hand with her thumb over the opening. To drop even a crumb of crack, would've been unthinkable. Tick Tack and Bobbi have gotten high many times before in the past. They knew each others routine well. The scene, if watching, was a trap in itself. Bobbi sat on the filthy couch, crossed her legs and lit her stem. White, thick smoke filled the shaft of the stem. Within seconds she was up, peeking out the window, still holding the smoke in her mouth and lungs, she finally releasing it. The effect was instantaneous, paranoia mixed with euphoria. Bobbi was once again in that strange world she had found herself in many times before. Every noise, every smell, every sensation was amplified. She knew someone was watching her. And in her mind, she believed she could catch them. She just didn't know how. However, her mind set was to just watch and wait.

Meanwhile, Tick Tack lit her stem and started a trip of her own. Every trip was identical, not like a dream, but something real was taking place. She became almost catatonic. Her eyes became wide with anticipation. Her eyes looked like someone had pulled her lids up to her eyebrows. She found herself where she has always been standing, in front of a cave. The mouth of the cave was midnight black, but she knew something was in there waiting to come out for her. She wanted to scream for it to come out, for it to show itself, but the sound would never come out of her mouth.

Tick Tack felt pain, awful pain in her stomach. She had no idea that her water had broken. In her mind, it felt like she was pissing on herself. It's just my imagination, she told herself. Bobbi didn't know if it was the sudden noise or what that caused her to turn around. She focused her attention right on Tick Tack. The first thing she noticed was Tick Tack standing in a puddle of water. "Yo girl, your water dunn broke. I knew it, damn it!" She said, pulling herself away from the window. "If you don't pull yo'self out of that trance, that baby is gonna drop right on this nasty floor. Move bitch, move," she said screaming at Tick Tack. But she didn't get a respond. Despite Bobbi's psychological condition, she moved with amazing clarity. It was as if she had been through this ordeal many times before. "Jeff," she called out.

"Don't call my fuckin' name unless you're coppin' more." He was in his own world, obviously busy with Tracy.

Bobbi knew she was on her own now and had to act quickly. She shook Tick Tack to try and bring her back to her senses, but she wasn't responding fast enough. Although her mind was trapped, Tick Tack was becoming more focus on her situation and she was able to allow Bobbi to lead her out of the apartment. She guided her down the street to the phone booth on the corner of Hopper and Steuben Street and sat her down on the snowy curb. As she was dialing 911, she could hear Tick Tack moaning. She gave the operator her name, where she was located and that her friend was about to have her baby right there on the streets and hung up.

"Girl, take this stuff." Tick Tack said, realizing fully her situation. "I would catch hell trying to explain what I was doing with it." Without straightening up, she reached down on the side of her boot and retrieved the package and handed it to Bobbi. She didn't understand the force that had drove her to use drugs at this point in her pregnancy. It wasn't that she didn't know any better. She felt disappointment in herself. She had come too far in her life to go out like this. But she knew deep down inside, that destiny was sitting the stage for its fulfillment. Bobbi took the package and placed it with her stash. She sat there with her arms around Tick Tack waiting for the ambulance to arrive. It seemed like a lifetime, but, it finally arrived. Bobbi rode in the ambulance with Tick Tack to the hospital.

Tick Tack was still in a daze but she was able to hear someone say, "It's a girl!" The voice was that of a female. "Put the baby in observation and watch for any signs of withdrawal."

"Yes doctor." Another voice answered. Tick Tack felt as if she hadn't slept in days, she drifted off into a sleep.

She was awakened by a ray of light beaming on her face. When her eyes were able to focus on its source, she discovered it was the sun shining through the window. She knew the sun was only disguising the fact that it was winter, several days before Christmas. She remembered it wasn't that cold outside and the snow falling was promising a white Christmas. She heard the door open and looked in its direction. A middle age, professional looking woman came strolling in with a look of indifference on her face. It was obvious, her business, was business.

"Miss Williams, my name is Mrs. Pearson. I am from the Department of Social Service, the child care unit. The hospital called my office. They, by law, must notice when they have evidence to support a claim that the mother was on drugs when she gave birth or during her pregnancy. At that point, we can only assume the worse, that is, you were using drugs during her pregnancy. In your case we can assume it was crack. Unfortunately, we must further assume that the child is in danger." Mrs. Pearson stopped for a moment to see if Tick Tack understood what she had said. "It is my responsibility to inform you that the county frowns down upon this type of behavior from an expectant mother. Therefore, we have taken the necessary steps to secure temporary custody of your baby. The county intends to lodge, endangering the welfare of a minor, and neglect charges against you."

Tick Tack just stared at the woman. She really didn't want to hear this shit. What is this bitch, crazy? Take my baby? That won't happen. She thought to herself. Mrs. Pearson continued. "We have no record of information on you. We will need to know quite a few things if you plan on getting your baby back."

Tick Tack looked at her as she rattled on. "Any questions", she asked? Tick Tack just simply turned her head away from her. Mrs. Pearson just looked expressionless down at her. After dealing with so many women in similar situations, she still couldn't understand their lack of remorse, shame or guilt. Unfortunately, drugs only numbed the immediate effects. They will later feel the pain, she could only assume.

The door opened and one of those white, starched uniforms came walking into the room. "Mrs. Pearson, are you about done" the nurse asked walking up to the bed. "Yes, we are finished for today. Maybe tomorrow you will be more responsive Miss Williams." With that, she turned abruptly and walked out of the room, never looking back.

"How are you feeling dear", the nurse asked? Her voice was much softer and more compassionate.

"I'm okay." Tick Tack responded.

"Good. Now, what have you decided to name the baby?" That question took her by surprise. She had not thought of a name and "Niya" came from her mouth. She had no idea where that name came from. But it had a melodious and beautiful sound.

"Yes! Niya."

Niya, N-I-Y-A, got it." The nurse said smiling. "It's a beautiful name for such a beautiful baby. You get some more rest and I'll be back later to check on you and bring your daughter." The nurse left the room as quietly as she had entered.

CHAPTER 2

**THE BEGINNING**

"Therefore shall they eat the fruit of their own way, and be filled with their own devices." Proverbs 1:31

When the nurse left, Tick Tack remained lying there with her eyes closed. All types of feelings began to challenge her consciousness. She couldn't understand where it all began. She could not understand, why her? She never considered herself a bad person. She was forced to do things from other people actions. They violated her rights as a human being. They had to pay for their injustice. They had to pay for the pain and suffering they inflicted on her and others. She began to drift back, back and back to a time past her own memory, to a time of memories belonging to her mother, Misty. Putting all the bits and pieces together, forming a picture of the way things were, LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION…

Misty was fourteen when her body fully developed. However, by the age of sixteen, she was the envy of women twice her age. Misty was beautiful in every sense of the word. Her coloring was a tawny, caramel. Curly black hair cascaded past her shoulders. Her body was one only a sculptor could create, truly voluptuous. Her lips were full and inviting. They always gave the appearance of being wet. She stood five foot four, one hundred pounds of sheer loveliness. Men would flock around her like wolves to sheep. She was a man's wildest fantasy, but would grow up to be his greatest misery. She was a mare that refused to be broken. No matter how bad she would treat one, he would return again and again, as a dog that returned to its own vomit.

She walked with the air of confidence and purpose. She never knew her biological mother or father. Rumors have it, her mother was the baddest ho that ever walked the streets of Virginia. No one knew who the father was, not even a rumor. She grew up in several foster homes throughout Virginia. She had convinced herself that, you can't miss what you never had.

Misty learned to lie when she learned to talk. Her first word was "Mama" but the chubby, white woman who never showed her any motherly affection, made her feel the word was misplaced. So, she stopped saying it. This was the first foster home she remembered. She was never able to form her mouth to say, "da da." The sleazy husband that occupied the house was one she instinctively disliked. He was just too sneaky. He was always watching her as if he was waiting for a chance to do something. All he did was watch her, television and drink beer.

When she was seven, the old woman could not handle her any longer. She didn't like the way her husband constantly eyed Misty and thought it prudent to contact the case worker. She explained that she didn't know how to relate to her nor address her needs. She was from a different culture, a culture that they knew nothing about. Her suggestion to the case worker was, to place her with, "her own kind." This would help her to identify and grow. She explained that Misty knew something was wrong and it was confusing her and that might cause her to become unproductive in the future. Indeed, the white woman was smooth in hiding the truth. The social services took Misty and placed her in an orphanage to await adoption, but she would not wait long.

Six months later Misty was adopted by a career army couple that lived in Newport News, Virginia, the Jensen's. Although married for close to fifteen years, they had no children of their own. The officers housing at Fort Richard's was better than most and there was ample room for Misty.

Carol Jensen was a slim woman with short hair. She wasn't endowed with physical beauty according to public opinion. But her heart was made of gold. Her smile radiated across her entire face. If she was ever feeling down, she'd never let on and her sense of humor kept everyone else smiling right along with her. Although Misty was naturally attracted to Carol's personality, her past history with her foster parents made her leery. Even the six months she spent at the orphanage taught her that nothing was forever.

Second Lieutenant Arthur Jensen was over fifty, and felt his youth was slipping away. He was only a bit taller than his wife, his mustache was salt and pepper, and was changing too fast to suit his vain ego. He was proud of the fact that he had recently made 2nd Lieutenant. He never considered the fact that he had been in the Army over thirty years and it was about time. He was overly meticulous about his uniform. He wore it with so much pride. Everything was spit and polished. If it wasn't for his bronzed skin color you might think you were looking at Napoleon Bonaparte. Even his personality matched that description. He was self – centered. Things had to be for his benefit or it wasn't happening.

The decision to adopt a child had nothing to do with his love for children. Actually, he never liked children. Carol was starting to cramp his style. She was bored and her boredom translated to his captivity. He was a player and couldn't come and go as he pleased while Carol needed to be entertained. What better diversion than a child and Misty served that purpose and he couldn't ask for more. While Carol's life started to revolve around Misty, the aging Lieutenant was able to come and go as he pleased. Who knows what he did with his free time, Carol did. However, she didn't care. She was occupied and content to be raising Misty, so she left him alone to do his thing.

Carol was happy. She doted over Misty day and night. She gave her all the love that she could give. She gave her all the love that was within. It didn't matter if Misty was not her own. Over the first few years a bond developed between the two of them. A bond based on trust, respect and love. But Misty had apprehensions, she knew, nothing lasted forever, but she told herself to enjoy it until the fat lady sing.

Carol was the first to see how Misty's body was developing. By the age of ten, her breasts were taking on fullness and her body was taking on curves. By the age of fourteen, she had the body of a woman. The soldiers on the base began to take notice. But Carol and common sense kept them at bay.

Misty began to understand the relationship between the Jensen's. Lieutenant Jensen may never have put his hands on his wife, he did worse. He attacked her mentally and emotionally. Many nights she heard him attacking her self-esteem, calling her ugly names. The next day he would blame it on the alcohol, but Misty knew he meant it. Carol wasn't a fool, she knew as well. In Misty's eyes, he was a piece of shit. He thought only of what he wanted and cared nothing about anyone else. Carol on the other hand, was warm, sensitive and caring person. Many nights as she would lie in her bed hearing him verbally abusing Carol, she just wanted to get something and bust him up side his head. But she continued to tell herself, his day will come and he'll get what he deserves.

It was a beautiful spring day, Misty returned home from school to find a note from Carol. It read, "Went shopping honey, left you some snacks on the table. See you soon, Love Mom." Misty smiled; she has always called Carol, Moms. Although she was apprehensive about the feelings it created, Carol desired nothing less.

Misty decided to shower, change her clothes, eat her snacks then go hang out with her friend Martha. She got out of the shower and began to dry off. She couldn't help but to admire her body in the full length mirror on the wall as she lotioned it down. She cupped her breasts slightly, squeezing them. This caused a wave of sensation to run through her body. For just a moment, she imagined the hands of a man caressing them, touching all the forbidden areas that would take her body to total ecstasy. She didn't hear the bathroom door open, nor did she realize that Lieutenant Jensen was standing in the doorway. Her eyes were closed and her ears were listening to her own melody of moans. A grunt of something out of sync with her own rhythm caused her to open her eyes only to see Lieutenant Jensen staring at her with a look that made her skin crawl. She heard herself saying, "Scuse me," while grabbing and wrapping the towel around herself. He wasn't listening. He looked like a raving wolf about to attack his prey but she wasn't afraid. At least, she hoped that he thought she wasn't.

"Look Misty," he said speaking for the first time. "I've been caring for you for some time now." He stopped to lick his lips, but not taking his eyes off her body nor how the towel that was defining its curves. He found it hard to believe how magnificent her young body was. She looked like an angel with out wings standing there with water dripping from her hair to the top of her breasts. The water rolled down her arms as she tried to keep the towel in place. He couldn't believe he had all this right under his nose. At that point, he made up his mind. He had to have her and have her right now. She was considered a child. He was a Lieutenant in the Army. What could she possibly say? He thought to himself. "I've been good to you since you've been here. Now it's time for you to return the favor. I don't have to keep you here. I can just call Social Services and they will come and get you. You wouldn't like that would you?" Misty didn't respond, she just continued to look at him with disgust. "Now on the other hand, I can make things so easy for you. And we can keep this between you and me. Whatcha say?"

Misty felt her self burning up with anger. For just that moment she could only stare at him. She saw the sweat running down his face, the saliva forming at the corners of his mouth and it made her stomach turn. She wanted to spit in his face. She fought not to say anything but the words rolled off her tongue and out of her mouth. "You little sick bastard! You're a fuckin' creep. Motha fucka, how dare you! Before I do anything for your black, greasy, ugly ducklin' ass, I'll jump in my own casket, slam shut the lid and suffocate to death! You're a fuckin' dog! I…" The last word didn't get out of her mouth. He slapped her so hard, not only did she hit the wall and slide down it, her teeth rattled and her body felt like it was going into convulsions. When she hit the floor her towel undid itself. He was on top of her before she realized she was on the floor. He started kissing and sucking on her breast hard as he was trying to undo his pants. She started screaming and putting up resistance. He sat up and balled up his fist. Misty threw up her hands expecting the worse. When she heard the sweetest voice of her life, it was Carol.

"Arthur," Carol screamed. "What are you trying to do to that child? Get off her right now." She ordered. "You're one low life bastard. I knew you were low, but never did I thing this low.

"Carol she…" Carol shot up her hand stopping him in mid sentence.

"Don't you dare try to put any of your mess on her? I heard her screaming for her life!" Carol began crying. Arthur walked out of the bathroom and down the stairs. Carol kneeled down beside Misty and they embraced. They cried and shared each others shame and pain. They knew their lives wouldn't be the same.

Carol helped Misty off the floor. She grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her and led her to her own room. "Lay down for a little while baby and try to get some rest." Carol said, displaying a show of strength, more for Misty than herself. Carol honestly didn't know where she would get the strength to deal with this situation, but she knew it had to be dealt with and dealt with now.

She walked downstairs. Arthur was sitting at the small bar in their living room having a Scotch. "I don't want her in this house a minute longer." Arthur said, not looking up at his wife. "I…well…the alcohol… I …"

"Stop it!" Carol said shaking her head. "That excuse is old Arthur. I'm tired of hearing it. You have used alcohol to justify everything. Now it's time to take responsibility for your actions."

"Listen," Arthur tried to interrupt, but Carol just waved her hand stopping him once again.

"You had your chance to talk and you decided to act like an ass, now it's time to listen. You violated the sanctuary of our home. Misty is fourteen years old. She just happens to be inside a woman's body. But no matter how you look at it, she's still a child. You should have been a man, someone for her to look up to. Someone she could trust. But what did you do? Instead of protecting, you violated her. You confirmed her greatest fear, that men ain't shit. They see only the body, and not the person inside of it. You should feel proud of yourself. You have just turned a child into a woman before her time." Carol stopped in an attempt to compose herself. She was hurt and there was no way to hid it. She looked at him and he looked so vulnerable, but she felt no sympathy.

"For years I have dealt with your infidelities, neglect, mental and emotional abuse. But I accepted it because of what I thought was love. But now you want to destroy the only thing that has given meaning to my life, the only thing that holds me together. You're not worth it Arthur. What you didn't expect, Misty didn't only provide me with companionship and responsibility. She gave me strength, the strength to stand for something and stop falling for anything. She has no one but me and I refuse to be another disappointment in her life."

Carol stopped to catch her breath. "You have a choice." He looked at her as if someone else was talking. He knew at that moment he had placed himself in the lion's mouth. And he knew the lion would have no pity. He realized he had placed his freedom in jeopardy for a selfish impulse. All he could do now was hope he could make it out with the least amount of damage.

"First, Misty or I is going anywhere. We can leave this incident between the three of us. However, if you refuse to leave this house and provide for us, we can take it to the next level. You can risk losing your career and dealing with the courts."

"Where am I supposed to go?" He asked.

"I really don't give a damn! But I'm sure you will find some place. Let me make myself clear. This is not a discussion, it's a choice. And I believe I'm being more than fair. I'm giving you something you wouldn't give to someone else. You don't give choices, you give orders. Now, if you're going to leave, pack now and don't cross your eyes at my daughter." She stopped to look at him. He wasn't moving. He just sat there staring at her. But his stare didn't frighten her, it made her more determined. She walked over to the phone and picked it up.

"I'll leave." He said getting up from the chair. He tried to put strength behind his words, but they came out weak. He stopped and was about to say something but changed his mind. It was as if he knew there was no reasoning with her. If he tried to push it, she may end up calling the police. With second thoughts he stopped again and turned to face her. "So this is what all those years meant to you?"

"No, Arthur," Carol said. "This is what it meant to you. I gave everything I had and it wasn't good enough. I gave you loyalty, you gave me excuses. I gave you respect and you gave me your ass to kiss. I don't dislike nor hate you, but the line you crossed, there's no coming back. You made a choice and as I have heard you tell those under your command many times, now be man enough to deal with the consequences."

The words cut through him like a razor. He knew in his heart she was right. At that moment, the woman that stood before him wasn't the woman he thought he knew. Although the bars on his shirt made him powerful to many, but in front of her he felt weak and helpless. For the first time in all those years together he finally realized what was special about her, but it came a day late and a dollar short. He turned and walked upstairs and she walked up behind him.

CHAPTER 3

"Each day brings a new reality, not only that nothing lasts forever, but you reap what you sow." Just a thought.

Arthur packed what he needed and left. Carol returned downstairs, turned on the stereo and jazz filled the room. She fixed herself a drink and sat at the bar and cried. But after a few minutes, the drink and smooth music started changing her mood. She sipped on her drink and was thinking about what she could've done differently. Nothing, she told herself. She wasn't the villain. She gave all she could give and then some. She looked for so little in return. She got nothing but heartaches and disappointments. She didn't fall in love to fall out of it. She was in it for the long haul. But a line had to be drawn. He left her no choice. The only thing that kept her going in the relationship was hope, and he destroyed it. She wasn't going to let him make her feel guilty. Now her hopes were in Misty. Although, this experience could cause her to have problems with relationships in the future, maybe, just maybe, her wounds would heal.

Carol looked up and saw Misty walking into the living room. "Well, how are you feeling?" Carol said smiling, feeling the effects of the alcohol. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Misty said. "I didn't know you drink."

"I don't, but I thought the occasion called for a celebration."

"What occasion?'

"Arthur left."

"I'm sorry." Misty walked over and put her arm around Carol's shoulder.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Something had to bring things to a head and I'm glad it was the right thing."

"What are we gonna do now?" Misty asked with her head down. Carol lifted her head up and looked directly into Misty's eyes.

"We're gonna move on with our lives. You will continue to grow into a beautiful lady and be successful." Carol said in a confident tone. Misty could only smile back. She would have liked to believe that things would be that simple. But she just knew it wasn't in her cards. She knew that fairytales were for the movies and books, not for real life, not her life anyway.

Misty stood there looking at Carol and remembered when she first came to live with her. She kept having this recurring dream. Someone kept trying to snatch her into an alley. She couldn't see the face or the hands of the person or thing. But she felt its presence. She would try to run but she would always end back up where she started. Everything was always dark behind her. She could only see a long stretch of blackness. She didn't know if she was running on a road or pavement. She would scream each time she felt that something was reaching for her. One night she screamed and screamed until she was awakened by something shaking her. She opened her eyes and Carol was smiling down at her. "It's only a dream baby." Carol would say. "I'm here with you now." From that moment on, a bond was formed between them. Carol was her savior, her light in that darkness. But she knew, one day, Carol wouldn't be there to save her. Misty wondered how anyone could not love and appreciate a person like Carol. She vowed, one day Arthur Jensen would pay for his crime of insensitivity.

"What happened here today," Carol said, bringing her out of her thoughts. "We'll keep between us. Not even your friend, Martha is to know. Is that alright with you honey?"

"I have no problem with that if you feel that's best."

"That's my girl." Carol said, placing her arms around her and hugging her real tight.

Misty once again slipped into her inner thoughts. It was her private place where she could be alone. She thought to herself, how Carol thought she was this innocent child. It wasn't the first time someone had kissed and caressed her breast. It wasn't the first time someone had placed their hand between her legs. But what made the difference, she didn't give her permission. She made the choices, not them.

Things at home for the both of them were symmetry. Carol had started allowing Misty to stay over Martha's house some weekends. What she didn't know, most times, Martha's mother would be out on the town doing her thing. On those occasions, Misty and Martha would entertain boys. They had lost their virginity awhile back. They earned the title, "dick teasers," by the boys. They enjoyed experimenting with each other and masturbation. But when Martha stayed over Misty's, they acted like perfect little ladies. Carol was proud of Misty and Martha. They were growing into beautiful ladies.

Two years had passed since Arthur's departure. It was Misty's sixteenth birthday. Carol had just finished placing the cake and plates on the table. She thought a few more balloons would be in order when, all of a sudden her hands flew to her head. The pain lasted for only a few seconds but it was fatal. Her body just collapsed off the chair she was standing on. She never felt herself hit the floor. Her body just lied lifeless as the balloons bounced off the ceiling.

Life is truly a mystery. Today has, only the moment. Tomorrow, only gives us hope. We never learn how to die. We only learn how to accept it. We're burdened with living and worried about dying. Many lives will fade from memory. However, if by chance your life had touched others, you may be remembered in a thought, sentence, paragraph or a chapter in the pages of history.

Carol only touched one life and that was Misty's. As Misty stood at the casket looking down at Carol, she wondered how could someone so good be taken when the world was full of evil and hateful people. At that moment, she came to the realization that life wasn't fair. She leaned over and kissed Carol on her cold lips and whispered softly, "I love you, mama."

Misty refused to even look in Arthur's direction. He was sitting up front as if he was the grieving widower. It made her feel sick. She returned to where she was sitting, with Martha and her mother, Mary. She had been staying with them since she found Carol's body. It's funny, when a person dies, we don't find the person only the body that the person lived in.

There were only a few people at Carol's funeral. She didn't have many friends. She liked it that way. She felt most people were backstabbing hypocrites. They were lovers of chaos and gossip. She never went to church. She believed the preachers were hypocrites as well. They lusted after women and kept the collection pot going around that helped them pay for their mistresses, cars and fancy clothes. Carol's wishes were, when she dies not to have her funeral in a church, so everything was held in the funeral home. Before they closed the lid for the final time on the casket, Misty walked back over and looked down at Carol, who she had dressed in pink and white gloves. Misty began crying. She leaned over and kissed her again and said, "I'll love you always."

When she turned around she was facing Arthur. "We don't have to be enemies." He said, but she detected the deceitfulness in his eyes.

"You're right, we're nothing." Misty responded. "I'll call in a few days to get my stuff. She turned and walked away, not giving him a chance to say anything. She joined Martha and Mary that were waiting at the door. Arthur followed her out with his eyes and thought to himself, I'll be waiting for that call, you smart mouth little bitch.

Misty called two days later and made arrangements to meet him at the house Wednesday at four o'clock in the afternoon. Arthur detected what he believed to be a sexual overtone in her voice. Maybe, she's coming to her senses, he thought to himself. He was delighted. He actually envisioned a new life with Misty. The outside world wouldn't know the difference. He would be just a caring father taking care of his daughter. Misty arrived the next day at four o'clock. She rung the doorbell and Arthur opened t he door. "What happened to your key?" He asked, holding the door open wider so she could get past him.

"I lost it." Misty said as a matter of fact. Misty walked by him so provocatively in the tight fitting dress, with the back out, that he felt tightness between his legs. If his face was a cartoon character at that moment, it would have turned into a wolf. He would be howling, whistling and thinking how the hunter had caught his game.

There was a short hallway from the front door to the living room covered with a nice solid blue carpet that provided extra softness for your footsteps. There was a big picture window providing extra light to the living room. But today it was dimly lit because the light thin curtains usually opened, were closed. The living room was nicely furnished. You could live very comfortably there. When you walked into the living room, directly in front of you, was a floor model stereo in a chestnut colored encasement. Next to the stereo was a small bar, black leather covering with two stools. Above the bar was a picture, silver metal framed, of a clown dressed in a multi colored outfit and juggling three bowling pins. On the far wall to the right was a black leather couch that looked so soft that you could fall into it and get lost. On each side of the couch were black end tables with glass lamps with white shades. In front of the couch was a black coffee table with gold trimmings. On top of the coffee table was a white doll, dressed in white. When you turned its metal key, it would play music and turn around and around. Above the couch was a gold picture frame with two shelves made of glass, which held pictures of Misty, Carol and Arthur some years back. The only good memories Misty would have to remember for the rest of her life.

The living room was spacious. The chair that went with the couch was on the other side of the archway, connecting the two living rooms. And there was a door that led to the kitchen. In front of the chair at the far wall was a glass table with gold metal legs. On top of the table was a television set. On the left side of the television was a black cabinet. On top of it was a fish tank with tropical fish swimming around. The walls were freshly painted white and added brightness to the rooms.

"Misty," Arthur called from behind her. It caused her to stop midway in the living room. She turned around without saying a word. As he walked up to her, looking at her standing there, with her legs slightly parted and hands on her hips, it nearly took his breath away. "You don't have to leave. I know we can come to some kind of understanding."

"Something like what?" She asked as if she didn't know. 'Damn!' He thought to himself. 'How can this fine young bitch make me feel this way?' He really believed she could provide him with a surge of vitality. He felt, she could allow him to recapture his youth. At least, in his mind, he believed it. If there's any truth in the old saying. "You're only as old as you feel." He knew, inside of her, he would feel like a young man again.

He thought of how to put the right words together so she could see the logic in this situation. He needed to convince her, life couldn't be any better than what he had to offer her. And he honestly believed that it was a small price to pay, compared …to…what? "Let me begin by saying," he stopped once again to clear his throat. "You're young, but, I don't believe you're dumb by a long stretch. I know you know the desires of a man. I…"

"Wait a minute let me get a clear understanding here." Misty said interrupting him. "I suck and fuck and you'll make my life easier or…something like that?" Arthur considered what she had said. He didn't have to consider it long. She hit the nail right on the head. She was young, but in age only. She had the insight and body of a woman.

"I guess that's a good way of putting it. However, I would not have said it that harshly." Arthur said smiling. Misty exploded!

"Niggah you fucking sick bastard! You're lower than a snake crawling on its belly! Carol haven't been in the ground seventy-two hours, and the only thing on your little ass mind, is fucking me! I'll let maggots crawl up my ass and lay eggs before I let you touch me. You're a dirty, low life motha-fucka! Fuck you…" That was all Misty remembered. Arthur couldn't believe those words were coming out of her mouth. Before he even realized it, his fist shot out and she crumbled to the floor. He looked down and her dress was up above her hips. She didn't have any panties on and he couldn't control himself, he went right at her.

When Misty had regained consciousness, she was on the living room floor. Martha and Mary were kneeling down besides her fixing her clothes. Misty thought she had been unconscious for a while, but it was only a few minutes at most. "Are you alright?" Mary asked.

"Besides my breast and jaw hurting, I'm fine." She sat up and saw two Military Police (MP'S) handcuffing Arthur. His eyes were downcast. He looked so old and fragile. For that instant, she felt pity, but only for an instant. She reasoned with herself, he's getting what he deserves. He's a beast in a man's body.

Martha ran upstairs to get Misty her housecoat when other military personnel arrived. Misty's jaw was hurting, but the pain felt good. And she was glad it wasn't broken. After Misty gave her statement, she was allowed to go upstairs and collect her belongings. She had to take a shower. She felt saliva between her legs.

Martha came into the bathroom as she was drying off. "That was smart giving me the front door key. I told the MP's that you were being raped in the house. When they saw I had a key, they just followed me in. Girl, he sounded like a dog lapping up gravy between your legs. For a moment, I thought the MP's were going to get into it. You were laying there with your legs wide open. He was so involved he didn't hear us come in. When he got up to undo his pants, he realized he wasn't in the room alone. I will never, if I live a hundred years forgot the silly look on his face. How did you know he would go for it?" Martha asked handling her clothes to put on.

"It's a simple thing," Misty said looking innocent, "he's a dog." They both laughed.

Arthur Jensen was court marshaled and found guilty of attempted rape, assault and endangering the welfare of a minor. He received a dishonorable discharge and was given fifteen years in Leavenworth Prison. Misty now felt that the scales of justice were balanced.

CHAPTER 4

"Through our journey in life, each of us comes to a fork in the road."

It'd been close to two years since Carol's death. Misty and Martha had become inseparable. They were now playing all the clubs and bars together. When you saw one, the other wasn't far behind. They were approaching eighteen. Their bodies and minds were ripening with the passing of time. Men had become their toys, their playthings.

Martha was pretty, but she wasn't a Misty. Then again, it depended on your taste. Martha was five foot five, with a solid build. Her best features were her long, shapely, chocolate legs. When she wore high heels, it gave definition to her already sassy walk. Her breasts were well developed and walked attentively in front of her. She wore wigs to make up for her short hair. But then again, the short hair perfectly complimented her oval face. She kept her hair braided under the wigs. She reasoned, if the wig got pulled off in a fight, she wouldn't become the joke. Misty may have been a head turner, but Martha could hold her own. They never had any problems over men. They both knew, in their opinion, men had too many dog in them. Some would go after anything that had a split between their legs. They refused to go behind each other. When you've dealt with one, you drew the line. That is just how they got down.

Martha never knew her father, but just like Misty, she believed you can't miss what you never had. Her mother, Mary, never divorced her husband nor was there ever a request made from him. Years ago he was shipped out and never returned. She learned he wasn't dead, so she didn't pursue it any further. To Mary, there was no love lost. She only married to get away from her parents. Love had nothing to do with it. Her parents were too religious and preached too many hell and damnation. She grew up in a Baptist church. She had enough of find herself praying for Martha and Misty, but more so for Misty. She had witnessed how cold, cruel, and insensitive she could be. She could feel the bad spirit that hovered around her. She couldn't understand, so she simply prayed for her.

Martha's attitude towards men had developed as she witnessed a lot of behavior displayed by men in the military. She had witnessed how they would impregnate a woman and then ship out and leave the woman with nothing but a child and broken promises. She refused to be caught up in that type of scheme. Most men in the town just didn't appeal to her. If they were going somewhere with their lives, it was hard to tell. Yes, she had her little relationships, but none had any substance. However, she had this feeling that she was about to come to a fork in the road.

Misty had indeed blossomed into such a beautiful woman. Her beauty had matured and her body was viewed as if it was chiseled by a sculptor. She stood five foot four. Her eyes were light brown, but held a bluish green appearance. Her hair had a reddish highlight that ran down her back like a waterfall. Rumors had it that her mother was the "baddest" prostitute in Richmond, Virginia. She died in a car accident with a trick, or sugar daddy, depending on the relationship. Rumors continued to have it that the trick became very possessive and one night just drove off the cliff with her in it, to their deaths, of course.

As far back as Misty could remember she'd always had this sinister attitude towards men. From the white couple's husband, Arthur and the men she dealt with now. She was known as the Devil's daughter. Her heart raged with hatred, bitterness and resentment towards men. She didn't know where those feelings came from nor did she care. They were her feelings and she took ownership of them.

Misty was fascinated with the street life; the pimps, prostitutes, tricks, police and the many other colorful characters. Everyone was hustling, trying to get over. She saw it as a dog, cat and mouse game. But she felt her destiny was to torment men from the other side of the fence where they just didn't pay with money, but with their soul. If she just sent one soul to hell, she will have fulfilled her mission in this life.

Misty didn't see Martha but twice in the last few weeks. Once at a distance and once when Martha was moving so fast she couldn't get a word in. She knew Martha had a man in her life and he was a pimp. The streets talk. She knew he would have to be some kind of man to catch Martha's attention. She also knew that Martha had already chosen the road she would journey down. Misty felt a force, a power pulling her down a path of uncertainty and darkness. She knew her life wasn't her own, she was on borrowed time. She felt frightened at time, but she knew she would have to walk the path alone.

One night, Misty saw Martha and some dude walking into the Foxtrot Club. She had the guy she was riding with to stop the car. When she got inside, she saw them standing at the bar. "What's up girl?" Martha asked as Misty approached.

"What's up with you?" Misty asked, looking from her to the guy. She immediately saw what Martha saw in him. She felt a cold, yet warm stare from him. He had eyes that seemed to look right through her.

"Misty, this is Slim. Slim, this is my sister, Misty." Slim just nodded without changing his stare. Misty smiled and nodded.

"Will you go to the ladies room with me?" Misty asked. Martha looked at Slim who nodded lightly. She just grabbed Misty by the hand and started walking towards the bathroom, maneuvering through the crowd.

Slim watched as they walked away. Their stride was smooth as a leaf blowing in the wind. Their youth bounced with each step. Their attitude spoke with each swish of their hips. This, in Slim's opinion, is what makes a good prostitute on the streets of brutal reality. On the streets, where prostitutes live out their illusions, tricks fulfill their darkest fantasies, and pimps have moments of ghetto fame. This is where society looks reprehensibly at their behavior and calls them antisocial. Yet, they're all a part of what makes up society.

Slim understood the laws of the streets. He grew up in them. His mother was American Indian. She had long black shiny hair and a body the shape of a Barbie doll. She was considered the baddest prostitute on the streets of Memphis, Tennessee. To receive the title, "baddest" requires the individual to be extra ordinary in their field of endeavors.

His father was known amongst his fellow pimps as Midnight. You would think he coined the name because of his dark complexion, but that wasn't the case. In fact, he didn't have a dark complexion, he was a golden brown. He coined his name because he never checked his "trap", money from the girls that worked the streets for him before midnight.

Slim's father and two of his uncles taught him the laws and rules of the pimping game. They would drill into his head that a prostitute doesn't make a pimp successful. He's successful because of his ability to direct, or redirect and motivate a woman in a productive way that benefits him. His father would always say, "A bitch can give away pussy all day long, it doesn't take any skill. But selling pussy is an art. It takes more skill than con for her to lay there with her legs spread open while a sucker is trying to beat away his own insecurities.

Slim's only responsibility while growing up was school. He was an above average student. Both of his parents would tell him, "Without an education, your choices will be limited in life."

His father would tell him, "Son, being black places limitations on you. However, with a strong education, you will be able to remove most of them. And don't worry about the streets, they will always be there. I promise you.

His mother, Tara, as she was known, taught him the ways of a woman in her many faces. He would never forget her words, "Son, a woman is the bud that will blossom under different circumstances, under different conditions, but she will not lose her identity. She will stay rooted into the essence of her nature, caring, compassionate, and loving. However, the bitch is the flip side of the coin. She is loud and disrespectful. She lacks discretion and direction. No matter how many times you redirect her, she's like the dog that returns to her own vomit. Her heart is set on evil and destruction. She loves men, yet, she hates them for the things she believe they have put her through in her life. She will fuck them, then turn around and fuck over them. She is what Delilah was to Samson. She can only see men through her own narrow vision. They only see their own pain and rejection, abuse and suffering.

Her narrow vision cannot see the experience of others, nor can she feel their grief and sorrow. It's all about her. She is an irreversibly wounded animal, caged in her own creation of mental and emotional hell. Her beauty is deceiving and can captivate you. But her actions and words will destroy you. She will pluck her own house down, brick by brick and leave you in the midst of chaos.

When you have to beat a woman for her to do what is in her nature to do, you're not dealing with the woman alone, you're dealing with the masochist within her that have taken control. She is just a trick fulfilling her own fantasies. Violence only breeds hatred, contempt and payback. To be a good pimp, you must first be a good man.

You'll find that all women are not cut out for the streets. If they are not going in your direction, it means they are going in the opposite direction and if you are pimping, that means she is prostituting. That math is just that simple."

Midnight towered over Tara. He stood six foot four, while she was five foot three. But they were a match made in heaven. Pimps will have many women in the span of their career. One, the most two will bring fruits of prosperity. Most pimps, not all, will not even realize what they have until the woman is gone and some don't realize it even then.

Slim was just seventeen when his mother was stabbed to death by a psychopathic killer. The killer was later shot to death in a gun battle with the police outside of the hotel. Midnight retired from the streets after her death and went into real estate. Slim embraced his destiny, pimping.

Before Slim went on the road his father said, "Most pimps take the streets for granted as if it was a leisure sport. They splurge their money on drugs and other props that will project a false image of grandeur. They will squander money on entertaining themselves and others to add hype to that image. This is their perception don't allow it to become yours. Pimps are not born, this is a math. They are a product of their circumstances and choices. You were groomed into the life, don't get it wrong. Choices were made. Success comes with the right attitude and outlook on life. You're not me or your mother. You're the best of both of us.

Remember, brutality is just brutality dressed up as excuses. Everything is a matter of choice. Thoughtful insight and other people's experiences help you make better choices. If you can't learn from others, you will have to make all the mistakes yourself. And believe me you don't want to step in that much shit.

Women are god's gift to men, although we take them for granted. What a ho has to endure only she knows. No one knows the risk she takes. No one knows the true price she pays for the money she brings to her pimp. Her body, morals, and even her life are compromised daily. She doesn't know if the man she is getting into the car with is a serial killer, psychopath, police, trick or robber. She walks in constant fear. On top of everything, she must worry about coming home with short money." Slim was just sitting there listening. He understood his father's pain, but he didn't share his born again ideology.

His father continued. "Most women come out of the streets wounded, if not broken down by the brutal brutality she had to endure. Most never heal. They can only carry their baggage into other relationships. It's a bag of bricks they carry around their necks for the rest of their lives. Many remain drug and alcohol users. Some are born again in God and find the light of salvation. I guess the bottom line son is, don't take anything for grant. Life is too short and makes no promises except, if you live, you must die. What you make of your life is, once again, a matter of choice." Once again, Slim understood his father's pain, he shared them.

Slim was out celebrating his twenty-third birthday. He stood six foot three. His hair, like his mother's was jet black, but had a wavy texture. His eyes were light brown and depending on the light they appeared greenish/grey. He got his eyes from his grandmother on his mother's side.

Tonight, Slim was dressed to impress. He wore a "roaring twenties" dark gray double breasted suit, with dark gray snakeskin shoes; a white silk shirt, with a grayish teardrop tie. He had a matching hanky in his breast pocket. On his wrist, he wore a half-caret diamond ring and on his wrist, a gold faced, diamond dial watch. Around his neck was a twenty inch gold rope (chain), with a money sign covered with diamond chips. He didn't have to look in the mirror the action he was getting from the people inside the bar spoke a thousand words.

Slim ordered a double shot of Hennessy on the rocks. He allowed his eyes to scan the lay out of the bar. He really wasn't impressed. He had seen bigger and better in his travels, but for the town, he guessed it was alright. He had to admit to himself, there were plenty of beautiful women in the bar. However, this was an old scene to him. Niggahs were waiting for the opportunity to get in his face. The girl was always a relative or something. He has fought his way out of too many bars. They would always think their acts of chivalry would deter a woman from the pimping, but it always worked in reverse.

Slim learned long time ago not to move on impulse when you're dealing with street people and especially people outside of the game. They thought and acted like suckers. In Memphis, not only did you have to know how to fight, you had to know how to win in order to eat. He never went without a meal. He knew the bar was filled with suckers so his thought was, why provoke when there was nothing to gain.

He sat at the bar sipping on his drink. He allowed his thoughts to go back to when he met Martha. He was parked in front of this all night hole-in-the-wall club called the, "Alley Cat". The name not only fitted the club, but most of the people patronizing it. He had a taste for a pepper steak sandwich and some fries. When he was about to get out of the car, a group of girls came out. One girl stood out. She was wearing a tight white cotton dress that was hugging her chocolate, creamy body. Their eyes met and locked as she laughed and joked with the group she was with.

Slim sat there in his powder blue Cadillac with white leather interior, dressed in a dark blue silk suit with matching tie. He had the driver's side window down. The warm breeze blowing in on him, created magic.

The group started dispersing, but not without each girl noticing the attraction between Martha and the driver of the Cadillac. When the last girl left, Martha was standing there alone looking out of place with the surroundings. She moved towards the car boldly with an air of confidence and the grace of a dove. She put on a smile that placed a glow on her face. Slim let the passenger's window down. "Hi, do you think I can get a ride home?" Martha asked as if she had known Slim for years.

"First things First," Slim began. "My name is Slim, Memphis Slim until we get to know each other better. And yours princess?"

"Martha." She said in a childish jester.

"Indeed, it's a pleasure to meet you. Let me also say, I'm not a cab service. However, for you I'll turn this pumpkin into a coach." He said as he extended his hand. "Hop in and lets find somewhere we can have us a drink and see where we can go from such a beautiful introduction." He released the power locks that sounded like soldiers coming to attention. Martha opened the door and gracefully got in like a lady of royalty. Slim noticed every little detail. He felt in his bones that at the end of this rainbow, there was a pot of gold.

"So they call you Memphis, why?" Martha asked as she leaned against the passenger's door, crossed her shapely legs in his roomy car and folded her arms across her rising breasts. Slim just glanced at her and reclined his seat to get a little more comfortable and put the car in motion.

"I'm from Memphis, the pimp capital of the world." Martha was about to ask a stupid question. She knew he was a pimp at first sight. So she just simply smiled to herself. "There are many important things in life, but right now the most important thing is if we can come to an adult understanding about who I am and what my purpose I can fulfill in your life." Slim stopped at the traffic light and lit a cigarette. "Do you smoke princess?" He asked as he inhaled deeply, taking the smoke into his lungs.

"Cigarette smoking is bad for you, so I smoke when I'm running." She said with a smile.

"You have a nice sense of humor, how refreshing. A smile is the gift that keeps on giving." Martha just looked at him. She had never heard it put that way.

Slim looked over at her again as she was staring out of the window. The light from the streets and the flashing neon signs added a new dimension of beauty to her. She was beautiful, but most importantly, she had an arsenal of potential.

"Let me assure you," Slim said, not letting her attention go elsewhere. "The world is a stage. The script is written from our experiences. It's from the choices we make or refuse to make once we understand the rules. Everyone has a part to play. Unfortunately, some don't know their part. They get lost in space and time. There are people that will come into our lives and provide insight and direction. If you're not aware of it, it could and will pass you by. Do you believe that?" Martha was silent for a moment as if she was in thought.

"I believe that." She agreed.

He pulled into the Holiday Inn where he has been staying since arriving in Virginia. The hotel was furnished with a nice bar and restaurant. They walked into the lobby and the clerk, a frail looking middle age white man immediately gave his attention to them. "Good evening sir." The clerk said with a smile.

"Any messages?" Slim asked.

"No sir," the clerk said looking over his shoulder at Slims room number slot. "Have a good evening, sir." The clerk said as an added courtesy. Slim walked past the desk heading for the bar with Martha beside him. He placed his arm around her waist which caused the sides of their bodies to touch. Martha responded by placing her hand on hand.

Martha began to experience a new feeling that she couldn't understand. She had just met Slim, but it seemed like she have known him for a lifetime and the feeling felt good. Although she has known men, she just never took them serious. But this man represented something different. She just liked the way he moved, the things he was saying and the manner he carried himself.

There were a few people sitting around the circular bar. One of the two bartenders was taking care of some paper work, while the other tended to the customers. Some of the tables were occupied with couples dealing with their own issues. Slim escorted Martha to her seat at the table before taking his. The lighting was dim but each table had a glass covered candle that gave additional light. The waiter approached the table immediately. "May I take your orders?" He asked, smiling at Martha.

"What meals are available?" Slim asked.

"It's after midnight sir, and we're on the breakfast schedule." The waiter said as he removed his pad and pen from his apron.

"Alright," said Slim, as he straightened himself up in the chair. "I'll have a T-Bone steak, well done. Three eggs, sunny side up, but break the yoke. I'll have home fries cut thin, and bring coffee with the meal." He stopped to look at Martha. She was looking with her eyes but her mind was someplace else. She was noticing how white his teeth were and the texture of his hair. "What will you have princess?" She hadn't heard a word he had said. "Make that two of the same please. The waiter turned and walked away.

Slim relaxed in his seat and lit a cigarette. Before he could say a word, the waiter was approaching the table again, but with a tray of drinks. After he left, Slim took a couple of sips and looked at Martha who was drinking some of her pepsi. She wasn't much of a drinker. Alcohol had such a strong sour taste to it. She just didn't like it.

"As I was saying, the world is a stage and life gives us the opportunity to play from the script we write through our experiences and choices. Society has labeled me a pimp and rightfully so. However, I am not a man without a conscience. I'm not the Devil looking to cash in on souls. I am not going to make my life hell on earth. I am playing the part I was groomed by destiny to live." He stopped to take a pull off his cigarette then he continued. "The streets are in my heart and mind and my heart and mind is in the streets. This is who I chose to me and do. I am not forcing anyone to like it or me. However, to be a part of my life, a person would have to visualize my vision and feeling what I feel about it. You have a personality that speaks loud and clear. You have a smile that could charm a snake from matting and the potential that's screaming to be released from its confinement. I don't believe in coincidence. Everything has a meaning and everyone has a purpose. Destiny has brought us together. Each day of our lives, have prepared us for this moment.

I cannot see what's in your mind or what your heart feels, but I can say this is the first day of the rest of our lives. In order for you to see my life through your eyes, you must first remove the hype and negative stories you've heard about the street life and its playas. You cannot find truth when you're stereotyping everyone.

I didn't get into the life because my mother threw me upside the wall when I was a baby. I wasn't abandoned or sexually molested. I don't hate women. Although my mother is gone, she was a woman and a good and powerful one. And I love her ever much." Slim was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with their food. 'Good timing,' Slim thought to himself. He knew too much information at one time wasn't good for digesting.

"Enjoy your meal." The waiter said after placing the meals and coffee on the table. Then he turned and walked away. Martha hadn't blinked an eye nor moved a muscle since he had started talking. She didn't know if she would be able to eat because she was too excited. She was just sitting there staring at him.

"Are you already?" Slim asked.

"Yes." She said returning from her inner thoughts and feeling a little embarrassed. "Yes, I'm sorry."

"That's alright, baby girl. Let's eat." He said, placing the napkin on his lap.

After the waiter had cleared the table, Slim ordered another round of drinks, but this time he got Martha a Gin and orange. He smiled at her and it made her feel good inside. She felt appealing, attracted and wanted. It made her feel like a woman. "Is everything alright?" He asked her.

"It's never been better." She responded with a smile.

"I can only give a person what their hand call for. I am true to what I do and to who I am. You must understand we're only as good as our past performance. The Oscar doesn't go today performance, it goes to yesterdays because it must first be disseminated, viewed and found to have merit." Slim stopped long enough to light another cigarette and take a sip of his Hennessy, than he continued.

"I was born and raised in the streets of Memphis. My mother and father shared a common vision that one day, my life would be better than theirs. They both played the streets. My mother was the baddest female to work the streets. My father was a major league pimp. The streets murdered my mother and my father wept like a baby that wanted to be comforted."

"I'm so sorry." Martha injected.

"I'm not telling you this for sympathy. You can buy that a dime a dozen. I am telling you these things so you will realize how committed I am to who I am and the life I have decided to live. There are no mistakes or coincidence. There is no second guessing. This is who and what I am.

I understood the love my father and mother shared. I saw the image behind the person my father was when my mother went to become a spiritual angel. His outer shell was hard and heavy, but I saw there's no force or power that can stand against love. I learned from the best. I am not bragging. Facts stand on their own merits. The most important thing I learned was, my aspirations must be above the street level or I would never go any further. And I refuse to live and die in the slums of the streets, a penitentiary, or in an alley from an overdose of stupidity." He stopped and looked at Martha. She was on the edge of her seat giving her undivided attention. He needed to say the things he was saying to her. She needed to hear what he was saying. The foundation was being carefully laid. There would be no future misunderstandings. He was assured of that.

Martha sat there caught up in deciphering the information. "I'm telling you these things not to scare or confuse you, but to inform. Each person must be and will be accountable for their choices. It is my belief, the more information a person have, the more intelligent their choices become." Slim said, bringing her thoughts back to the present. Slim lit another cigarette.

"I brought two girls with me from Memphis. They have been traveling with me for the past few years. They're vets."

"What's a vet?" Martha asked.

"It means they have been working the streets for some years." He didn't want to be harsh with his words, but he needed to give her a clear picture. "They were turned out, however, under the old laws of the pimping, which means, when most pimp had a misunderstanding about how to relate with the women in their lives. Unfortunately, the ones with me are a product of those teachings. They hold no vision of prosperity. They hold only resentment in their hearts. They see pimps as being stuck in the same maze they are in. They will subconsciously fight the structure of success. The only thing they desire is payback for their own poor choices. They're poisonous snakes waiting to strike out. They don't enter a pimp's life to enhance it. They come only to bring chaos and destruction."

"Why would you deal with those types of people?" Martha asked inquisitively.

"It was my challenge. It was my initiation into the game. I knew through faith and persistence my reward would come and that reward is you. You are not soiled or abused from the cold hard realities of the streets and pimps with bad attitudes and a misunderstanding of the game. In you I see a bright future."

"I never met a person like you." Martha said as she felt the need to express herself. "You're totally comfortable and confident with who you are and where you are going in your life. I am confident, without a doubt in my mind that wherever my destiny leads me with you, I'll make it there. Yes, I have heard how pimps act out on their girls. I have even witnessed some of their actions. But I don't see nor feel those behaviors in you. I am not worried about you living up to my expectations, I'm just hoping, I can live up to yours. If you're willing to teach me, I'm willing to learn, Slim."

"Call me Supreme. I am the real thing." He got up and stepped over to Martha. He took her hand into his and guided her up from her seat. As they stood body to body, he leaned down and licked her lips as if they were his favor ice cream, then he gently kissed them. He stepped back and looked into her eyes, "this is the signing of a life time commitment. As of this moment, through rich or poor time, through sickness or health, we are one."

At that moment, Martha felt like wax in an infernal of passion. Her body felt weightless in his arms. She felt like a leaf in a windstorm of desire. She felt caught up in her imagination where she was being blown away to a place of euphoria where she could smell the burning of her own hankering. She felt the hunger of her appetite for a man she just met but seemed to have known a life time. She may not know what tomorrow will bring, but her intuition told her the future was looking bright. She couldn't wait for him to love her. And she knew her patience would be her reward.

Misty and Martha reached the ladies room, there were no words spoken for the first thirty seconds or so. They simply embraced each other. Misty knew Martha had reached the fork in the road and they were about to journey down different paths. "This is it huh girl?" Misty asked as if she didn't know. Martha turned away from Misty and placed her pocketbook next to the sink on the counter. She knew also this was goodbye. She reached into her purse. Misty noticed what she was wearing. She had to admit to herself that she has never seen Martha look so radiant. She was wearing a red silk mini dress that flared from her waist down with a low cut front that exposed the top of her breasts, giving them the appearance of perfection; gold chain with a heart locket dropping to her cleavage. She wore black high heel shoes, with a small red bow on the back instep. Her pocketbook was black with red designs. She had on a black wig cut shoulder length. She was a picture of loveliness.

Martha brought from her purse a hair brush and a tube of lipstick. She placed the lipstick on the counter and began to brush her hair. "There comes a time in our lives when we must make choices for ourselves. Right or wrong, we must make them." She was watching Misty's reaction in the mirror. "Life deals us the cards and some hands we need to throw in, but others we need to play. I am playing the hand I have been dealt. I know I have to do something with my life. Most people would disagree with my choice, but its mine choice. The streets isn't my destination, it's a path to take me to greater things. It may sound corny, but it's what I believe."

Martha returned her brush to her purse and picked up her lipstick. She pulled the cap off to expose a cherry color. After applying a thin coat she replaced the cap and returned it to her purse. She turned and rested her butt on the edge of the counter she looked at Misty and smiled. "Hey girlfriend, we got to do what we got to do," Misty said with a smile. "You're smart. I know you know what you're doing. If you feel the streets is the avenue you need to take to get you where you need to go, you can count on me to be in the cheering section. I love you Martha and I going to miss you."

"I love you to Misty," Martha said as they embraced and kissed.

"Don't forget me," Misty said as she wiped the tears that began to roll down her cheeps. Martha was also tearing up.

"I'll never forget you," Martha assured her. "Do you want to hang out and party with us tonight?"

"No girl, I have Brian waiting for me in the car. I have a heart to break. Plus your man isn't the type to have a bitch just hanging out." They both laughed and embraced again. They knew that they would never see each other again. They both looked into the mirror to make sure when they walked out no one could see their pain.

CHAPTER 5

"For there shall be no reward to the evil man: The candle of the wicked shall be put out." Proverbs 24:20

Misty was becoming very uncomfortable living with Mary. It wasn't that she was being treated differently, but she couldn't help but feel smothered since Martha had left. The unwanted attention was suffocating her. She couldn't help but feel she was just a substitute for Mary's longing for Martha. Many times she wanted to remind Mary that she was Misty, not Martha. In her heart, she knew Mary was Carol's substitute and Carol was the mother she never knew. Ironically, she knew she was giving back. She thought it was funny how life was set up to bring everything back around. It was a crazy cycle, she wondered whom tab she was going to pay.

She envied Martha for having the courage to get away from it all. Although she chose a pimp, in truth, it was the best move she could've made under the circumstances. Now she was certain, she was caught between a rock and a hard place. She knew the streets were her calling. It was a gut feeling you can say. She was nineteen years old with everything in her favor. She had looks, a body and could be considered pretty smart academically. She and Martha graduated from High School with honors.

She had no intentions on working a square job. She viewed it as a man's responsibility to provide for a woman. Her job in a relationship was to keep the man broke, emotionally in bondage and mentally stressed out. She believed she had found the right one to raise her out of her present predicament.

Charles was in the Navy, stationed in Norfolk, Virginia. A few friends decided to ride over to Newport News and check out their Non Commissioned Officers (NCO) club. This was his first tour of duty, as they referred to people without time in Military. In just fourteen more months, he could reenlist for another three years. He was hoping to make the Navy a career. He had recently turned twenty-five years old. He considered himself lucky, or blessed would be a better word to have escaped the maze of his existence.

Charles grew up in the slums of Brooklyn, New York. Every sinister villain sought his services or sanity. Drug dealers needed his to deal, hold, or just transport their drugs. Junkies needed somebody else money to get themselves high and what better way than to bring another body into the maze of drug use, abuse and addiction. Their words, "Yo bro, wanna get high? It's on me, man." He could still hear their words in his sleep. Stickup guys needed somebody to drive the getaway car or someone just to look out. But you always end up playing a bigger part. White guys would stop him or yell out of their car window, "Where can I get some action?" He knew they were simply looking for black women.

Life in the ghetto was hard on Charles. He wasn't hardcore. It was a nightmare he lived while he was awake. He would hear people say, "You can take the person out of the ghetto, but you can't take the ghetto out of the person." The ghetto, he would hear, was not a building, neighborhood or even people it was a state of mind, an attitude.

What convinced him to enlist into the Navy, his father, Bones, came home drunk one day. This wasn't a rare or special occasion, this was an everyday occurrence. Bones was an uneducated man that carried a world of hatred on his shoulders. His hatred was for himself. He hated would he was and what has become of his life. He had a bad attitude about everything and everyone. He was a miserable person.

Bones couldn't or wouldn't find a job. A drunk and abuser was his daily occupation and he was very good at it. He would drink cheap wine and anything else that had alcohol in it. He couldn't find money to pay a bill nor buy food, but he was always able to find a drink. Because of his very abusive behavior towards his wife and kids, Charles' mother, Annie Mae, believed he had some very serious issues as a child or something. On several occasions, she tried to get him to talk about it, but he would shut down or turn violent, most often the latter.

Annie Mae was born in Birmingham, Alabama between the 1902 and 1905. She wasn't sure of the year because she had no birth certificate. She was delivered by a mid-wife. Back then, it was a regular occurrence in the South. She was born in a little shack which was shared with several other children and older folks. When she was in her late twenties, she moved with her sister, Beth to Brooklyn, New York. Annie Mae and Beth had the same mother, but different fathers, which was common in the South.

Beth was attractive and graced with a tasteful looking body. Annie Mae wasn't that fortunate. Her features came from her father. She was short, dark skinned and over weight with the future promising much more. She was ten years old than Beth. Beth acquired street sense at an early age. She learned the value of her body and what men liked from a woman. Although she lacked an education, she didn't lack good sense. At the age of nine, she was servicing men. She learned fast the tricks of the trade.

Annie Mae, however, not only lacked street sense, an education, but she didn't have the proper tools to entice a man. She was convinced she'd always be a maiden in distress, a bare tree without ever bearing fruit. She would dream of having a husband, children and a happy life, but she knew it was all wishful thinking, until, several years after arriving in New York, she met Bones.

Now, according to Bones, he received his nickname from his early childhood. All through his childhood he was skinny. You saw nothing but bones, he claimed. So the name stuck.

Bones wasn't the Dapper Dan of the neighborhood. In fact, he could've, by popular vote, been considered a bum or derelict. No one knew anything about him, where he came from, the reason for his present condition, nor did anyone care. One day, he just appeared in the neighborhood and blended in. No questions were ever asked.

One day, Bones and a few of his associates were hanging out next to Max's liquor store drinking some cheap wine when he noticed Annie Mae getting off the bus. She was returning home from one of her housecleaning jobs. No, he didn't find her attractive but she was a woman and that's what he needed. 'She'll do,' he thought to himself.

He got into step behind her trying to say sweet things that would cause her to stop, but it didn't work. It wasn't that she didn't find his remarks flattering she just believed he was making fun of her. Everyday, for a week was she got off the bus, Bones would be there. He would walk behind her saying romantic things until that one day she stopped. She felt overwhelmed with flattery. No one had ever given her that much attention. From that day on, she became a victim of Bones' bullshit and her own feelings of inferiority.

Bones came home one night and he tried to rape his sixteen year old daughter, Joanna. The surprise and shock caused her to scream at the top of her lungs. The scream brought Annie Mae running out of the bedroom. She had just got home from work. When she saw Bones fighting with Joanna to get her shorts off, she just ran back into the bedroom mumbling incoherently. She went to the closet, reached on a shelf and retrieved a black pocketbook. She reached inside and brought out a Smith & Wesson thirty-eight revolver. Her oldest son, Ray Boy had given it to her before he went to prison. "You never know moms," he said. She had thought of giving it to Bones, but she knew all he would've done was sell it. Tonight, she thanked God that she had not done something so foolish. It was meant for him, not to him.

When she returned to the living room, Bones had managed to get Joanna's shorts and panties off. He was carrying on as if no one was there. He was now fighting to hold her down while he tried to undo his pants. Annie Mae reached out, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and placed the barrel of the gun to his temple. He was too drunk to realize what was about to happen. She simply said, "Thirty years," and pulled the trigger. Joanna just screamed and screamed as some of his brain, skull and blood landed all over her as she tried to roll off the couch. Annie Mae died from a stroke seconds later. Joanna's mind returned to her earlier childhood. It was where she was mamma's baby and daddy's little girl. She would never touch present day reality again. She was placed in Belview Hospital, for the insane.

Tragedy had once again rolled its heavy barrel over someones life. Once again, misfortune has struck and claimed victims only to add to its statistics. Yes, once again disaster has left grief and sorrow behind. Calamity has left the strong, weaker and the weaker no more. The Devil weaves his web. No one is exempt from his arms. He will touch the poor, rich, innocent and the guilty. From the womb to the tomb, the Devil awaits. He's not behind you; he's in front leading to way.

Charles came home only to find that grief, sorrow, confusion, and the difference a second can make in someones life. The detectives at the scene could only theorize with two dead and one locked away in her own mind. Charles couldn't believe the picture the detective had painted for him. His father, true enough was a piece of shit, but he wouldn't do something that lowdown, or would he?

When the police arrived at the building, neighbors were already gathered outside of the apartment door. They were there not out of care or concern, but to have, first hand knowledge or juice gossip as it is called, that they would spread like a forest fire. In a matter of minutes, they whole neighborhood would be flooded with what had happened. Each person would have their own interpretation. After several knocks without an answer, the police decided to kick the door open. It burst open after just one kick. What it revealed froze everyone in the moment. Bones was lying face up in a pool of blood with half of his brain gone. Joanna was kneeling beside her mother, with blood and flesh covering her face and shirt. She was nude from the waist down, begging with her mother to get up. Someone in the crowd screamed. This brought the police back to the reason they were there. They went into action.

One officer started to back the crowd up, while calling for backup and Homicide. The other ran inside the apartment and snatched a shabby looking blanket off a chair and covered Joanna up with it and sat her in the chair. When backup and Homicide unit arrived, they secured the scene and took charge. The detectives theorized that the father attempted to rape the daughter and the mother shot him and then caught a massive heart attack.

When a preliminary investigation was done after Bones death, a shocking discovery was made. His real name was Coolie Washington, not Raymond Nelson. He had escaped from a Mississippi chain gang some thirty years ago, serving a life sentence for the murder and rape of a twelve year old black girl. As far back as they could tell Mr. Washington had several arrest for assault, assault with a dangerous weapon and several charges for sexual assaults on young children. The investigators, wondered how, could someone like Mr. Washington, avoid justice for so long. They simply shrugged their shoulders and considered it a blessing. They decided to clean up some of their unsolved sexual assault cases.

Ray Boy was brought down from Attica, a New York State Correctional Facility, to attend his mother's funeral. He would only attend his mother's. He only wanted to kill his father over again and again. He wanted him to feel his pain, the unbearable pain until he cured the bitch that gave him birth.

Since he was a boy, he had been living with a secret of shame, and the humiliation of molestation. His father had used him as if he was a woman. The deplorable behavior of his father created the ruthless, coldhearted person he had become. The brutal treatment he inflicted on homosexuals in prison didn't begin to express his hatred. His father was right about one thing, his acts of pervertedness would make him a man out of him.

Ray Boy had become a human animal, just like his father. The only people he cared anything about were his mother and sister. He considered Charles a weak and more homosexual than the ones in prison. He felt his father got off too easy. He prayed every night that his father would live along enough so he could murder him. He felt now that life refused to give him a fair roll of the dice. He felt his father should have been burned slowly at the stake, one match at a time.

Ray Boy was in Attica serving twelve and a half to twenty-five years for killing a white boy in a drug deal gone wrong. The white boy, known as Trickster in the neighborhood, earned his name from the many underhanded schemes he had been involved in over the years. He made the wrong choice when he thought he could rob Ray Boy out of the drugs and money they robbed in a stickup of a drug house in Harlem. This act of deceit and betrayal cost Trickster his life, and Ray Boy his freedom, at least for awhile. Although Trickster was known by the Vice Squad on the streets, he was still white and justice peaked from under her blindfold to dispense justice.

Charles didn't want to end up like his father or brother. He believed the Military would help him find himself, so he joined the Navy a few weeks later.

There wasn't anything special about Charles that made him stand out except his lips appeared too large for his face. He had a medium brown complexion. He stood about five foot ten. A medium build with the short faded hair cut that most Military personnel wore. Misty only saw opportunity for herself. And it was only for herself. If she had a crystal ball and was able to look into the future, she would have known all the glitter wasn't gold.

After meeting Misty at the NCO club, he was in love. He would call her often for the next several weeks asking her to marry him. Each time she would say no. One day he came to see her and asked her to marry him again. Misty responded, "Charles, I don't love you. And how could you love me when you don't even know me? To be totally honest with you, I don't think I could ever love you or anyone else for that matter."

"Give yourself a chance, Misty," he said as if what she was saying wasn't applying to him. "You don't know what you're capable of doing or feeling until you try."

"What if…it turns out that I can't love you, how many bitches would I have to be?"

"You'll never be a bitch to me. You have to give us a try. Anything is possible."

"Things are always easier said with the mouth, but you don't know me, once again. I can be a real bitch."

"What else is there for me to know? I know that I love you and yes I don't even know you like that, but I know what I feel."

"You're not thinking from the head on your shoulders, you thinking between your legs. When things don't work out I'll be every low down dirty bitch you could think of."

"No, that's no right."

"That's your head speaking again, not your heart. I can assure you of one thing."

"And what's that?"

"If it happens, it will be your problem, not mine. You have been warned." She said knowing nothing she said would discourage him. She knew his mind was already set. She knew she would never love him or any other man of his caliber. He was a sucker and all she was going to do was not simply going to fuck him, but fuck over him. "Call me tomorrow. I'll have you an answer." She walked without looking back. If he could have seen the smile on her face, he may have had second thoughts. Instead, he watched her switch her butt as he felt a tingle in his groin.

Misty knew what she was going to do and she knew what Mary was going to say, but she wanted Mary to feel she had a part of her decision making. "All I can tell you," Mary said after considering what Misty had told her, "we must grab opportunity when it knocks. It's only the moment that really counts. I'm not telling you to play with someone's feelings. However, when you laid your cards on the table you give them a choice. If they accept it, it's on them. But remember this, men will quickly agree when they feel it's in their best interest. However, when their feelings truly become involved, they want to rewrite the contract. And because you're the type of woman you are, you may have to watch the corners you turn down and the alleys you walk by one day. You understand me?" Misty shook her head in acknowledgement.

**CHAPTER 6**

"I'll huff and puff, til I blow your house down." From the fable, The Three Little Pigs.

The summer day was beautiful in mid June when Charles and Misty were married. Charles was the happiest man alive. He had a beautiful young wife and a career in the Navy. What more could anyone ask for? But happiness reused to make any home a permanent residence. Romance is but for a moment. The thrill is but for a second and the relationship can only stand on what it has been built upon.

Charles moved Misty into an apartment complex called Ridge High, in Norfolk. Misty's first six months were used only to become acquainted with her new surroundings. Charles believed she was settling into the marriage, but he was wrong as two left shoes.

Misty made friends with a girl named, Tanya who was just as young, wild and pretty as she was, almost anyway. Tanya stood five foot four, a light brown tint complexion and had curve in all the right places. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the better, Misty would still rank a few numbers above her.

They had a lot in common. They were both married into the Navy, both were young, and loved to shake their ass and get older men excited with false hopes of tapping into their fountain of youth. They were extremely flirtatious and would cross the line of infidelity with the drop of a hat. They had no shame. In their opinion, that's how the game was played. However, a one night affairs was all they were willing to give up. However, those that were blessed with the opportunity never turned it down.

Love for Misty was a double edged sword. One side brings pleasure and joy, but the other would bring sadness and a clashing of emotions. She refused to let herself become its victim. Unfortunately, Charles was falling deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of love and lust. He had become extremely jealous and possessive to a point of frenzy. He began to suspect his friends were simply smiling in his face while trying to seduce his wife. He stopped bringing them to the house and rightfully so, they wanted to share in his blessing. However, Charles didn't really know Misty. She was not the type to shit where she ate.

As time went on, Charles reached the point of no return. He was no longer rocking the boat, as the saying goes, he was about to sink the ship with his jealousy and possessiveness. He didn't realize he had started suffocating Misty with his behavior. She was becoming more and more rebellious and downright disrespectful. He made her realize even more that she was too young and spirited to be locked down into a relationship that was going nowhere. She knew it before she said yes to his marriage proposal. Somehow she thought marriage was the easy way out. However, something kept telling her it was a wrong move, but she wouldn't listen to her feelings. Now she is helping him sink the ship.

After several rumors about dealing with young men, she decided to leave them alone. She found them too violent, too broke, and too possessive, just like Charles. She began to look at more seriously at older men, not for love but for financial support. Older men in her opinion, were more financially stable, more responsible in relationships and not likely to boast in the streets of tapping a young piece of ass, mainly because, must times they're paying for it in one way or another.

One evening after work, Charles came home drunk, a behavior that was become more of a habit. Misty was laying on the couch in a short night gown, revealing the blessings God had given to her. This, of course, added fuel to an already burning fire. He looked at her with a look that caused her to sit up. "Who you been fuckin' now, bitch?" He asked as he walking closer to her.

"I only know of one bitch and that's your momma, the bitch that birth you, niggah," Misty countered as she jumped up from the couch. Charles tried to swing at her but missed. He fell on the coffee table, crushing it under him.

"What, you think I'm stupid? I know you're fuckin' these niggah around here," Charles said, screaming as he lay on the floor. "If I catch a mothafucka in this house, bitch…"

"Remember, who the true bitch is, the fruitcake sister of yours." Each world she said she took a step closer to the door.

"You're a no good…"

"Watch your mouth, I'll read the riot act to you," Misty said cutting him off.

"I don't deserve this shit from you or anyone else," Charles said, trying to pick himself up off the floor. "Why are you doing this to me?" He began to sob. This only made Misty look at him in disgust. 'This is a man.' She thought to herself.

"I'm not doing anything to you, you're doing a good enough job all by yourself. I never promised you anything. You want to fuck me every time you roll over in bed. I can't wipe myself without finding you there. This is my body, not yours. This is mine head," she said pointing to her head. "I'll allow in who I want in and this is my heart," she stopped again to point at her heart. "I'll allow in who I want in. I told you from the very beginning if it didn't go your way I'd be every bitch under the sun. You just proved my point." Charles sat with his back against the couch looking like a sick puppy. It made her stomach turn.

"I love you Misty. You just can't imagine how much. Things you say and the things I hear hurt me. I just don't know how to deal with it. I…" There was a heavy knock on the door. You could tell this startled Charles.

"Police," someone shouted from the other side of the door. Misty gave Charles this look that said you fucked up now, before opening to door. When she had realized that she had not covered herself up, it was too late. The police was looking at her as if she was their favorite desert. She could feel their eyes following her when she went over to the couch and retrieved her housecoat. The two white police officers just stood there for a moment not being able to say anything. It was like they forgot why they were there. "Ms," the fatter of the two was the first to speak. "We were called about a disturbance here."

"We, um, me and my wife were just having a misunderstanding." Charles said getting off the floor. The young, slim officer looked at the smashed coffee table Charles was standing by.

"It looks like more than a misunderstanding." He said as they walked completely into the apartment.

The young officer turned his attention back to Misty. 'Damn! She looks finger licking look.' He thought to himself. He looked back at Charles and immediately felt a dislike for him. He couldn't figure out what in the world she was doing with someone like him. From that moment he was hoping Charles would do or say anything negative so he could take his nightstick and beat him upside his nappy head. He thought of his early days growing up. He never had the nerve to approach women. Now he had courage, respectability and authority with his badge. He would love to have a taste of Misty's juicy body.

It was as if Charles was reading the officer's thoughts. He could see the look in his eyes. He was looking at her as if she was a juicy steak dripping in A1 sauce. Charles could feel the anger building up in him but, he knew he had to suppress it or he could lose everything. "Everything is alright now, sir," Charles said, maintaining an air of calmness. Misty was simply enjoying the whole scene.

"What's your take on this situation, miss?" The officer asked Misty, totally ignoring what Charles had said.

"Just as he had said, sir," Misty responded. She may have been a bitch, but working with the police wasn't her cup of tea. She didn't like the police for any reason. She really didn't care what color they were, in her opinion, they were all assholes. However, she knew the white ones simply wanted to fuck a black woman and put the black man in jail. She wasn't down with that shit.

Misty was watching the reaction from the police man. She could see the disappointed look that came on his face. She was thrilled. "Well," the officer said with bitterness in his voice. He spoke as if it was personal to him. May be he realized the taste in his mouth for Misty would go unsatisfied. "If we're called back here, somebody is going to jail. Do I make myself clear?" He said looking right at Charles. Before he could give a response, the police turned and walked out the opened door. Misty walked over and closed the door behind them. Then she turned and looked at Charles.

"Let's get something understood. First, putting your hands on me will not be an option. These crackers would love to put their night stick upside your head and throw your ass in a jail cell. Second, I'm pregnant."

The sixties was a decade that caused the wheels of achievement and consequences to turn. J. Edgar Hoover blanketed the nation with his brand of law enforcement. He became the eyes and ears of America.

It was a time when voices raised up and knocked on the door of America's consciousness. John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr., labeled the three wise men. They challenged the power structures and caused many to fall. Malcom X became a powerful voice that brought the Nation of Islam into the public eye. Muhammad Ali took the boxing world by storm by bringing to it a bold and confident attitude at defined those before him. Then he made an eye-opening statement when he refused the draft and said, "The Viet Cong are not the one's refusing equal rights. They are not the one's calling me a nigger." In other words, he refused to fight for a country that refused to give blacks equal rights and refused to remove the mental chains that kept them in slavery.

Huey P. Newton, H. Rap Brown and company formed a group called the Black Panthers to fight for black's rights. However, Hoover determined this group was a threat to the structure of "White America" and a possible threat to civil order. His actions were to disband this group by any means possible, so he sent blacks into the group.

The Civil Rights Movement, led by Martin Luther King, Jr., brought a new direction to the cause of Nonviolence. Blacks were sending a powerful message, "We shall overcome." Blacks were tried of being treated as second rated citizens where their blood, sweat, tears and lives helped to build this country.

The Supreme Court passed a law banning segregation in Public schools. Voting rights, although passed in the fifties, were ineffective because the Jim Crow laws were still creating obstacles.

Music like Curtis Mayfield's, "Keep on Pushing, Choice of Colors." James Brown's, "Say It Loud, I'm black and I'm Proud," became the black's national anthem. We began to find pride in being black.

Buffalo Springfield's, "For What It's Worth." Freda Payne's, "Bring the Boys Home, Bring them back Alive." These songs protested the Vietnam War, a war that claimed thousands upon thousands of American Lives.

Songs like Jim Henrick's, "Purple Rain." The Temptations, "Cloud Nine," pointed out that drugs had come ashore in America and would create another war.

The sixties; riots, protests, demonstrations, assassinations, the Klu Klux Klan movement, cocaine, heroin, LSD, and marijuana, this was indeed a decade that added color and direction. It was a decade that will always stand out in the pages of history.

CHAPTER 7

"Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop." Proverbs 12:25

Misty had not even started to show in her pregnancy before she aborted it. She told Charles it was a miscarriage. She simply refused to have a child by him. She refused to bring another him into the world. Charles was broken-hearted with disappointment. When it was time to reenlist, he decided against it. The war in Vietnam was crazy. Many of his friends had been shipped out and he was not trying to get a tour over there, on land or sea.

Charles had considered himself a fighter. He had survived the streets of Brooklyn, the death of his mothers, his sister's mental breakdown, his father's abusiveness and his brother's ruthlessness. He believed he could survive the emotional abuse Misty was inflicting on him. He would have to survive because he loved her beyond any words could describe. He believed all wounds healed in time. 'But what if I failed to gain her love?' he often thought to himself. He knew that time could rust steel until it turned into dust.

Charles was finishing out his enlistment contract. He had lost weight, drinking heavily and not sleeping much. He was becoming the one person he hated, his father. He could not help himself. Misty was driving him up and down the walls of insanity. But he truly believed he would endure.

Misty disliked having sex with Charles. In truth, I t made her feel sick. She thought she could tolerate it before she marriage him just to get to where she needed to get in her life. She was wrong. She had started slipping condoms on him, as she did any men she dealt with. At the beginning, she did not mind him not using one, but getting pregnant was not a part of her plans. There never were any emotions involved, except feelings of disgust. She looked at it as simply a job she had to perform, but she would determine when and where. In fact, none of the men she had dealt with made an impression on her sexually. She dealt with the pounding and salivating all over her body because it got her what she wanted and when she wanted it. She would tell herself she was simply a closet prostitute, but she was alright with it.

It was not even six months later, she found herself pregnant again. The affair she had that lit the candle of her emotions was short lived. It was like a dream. He was a man of total mystery, charm and strength. She sensed right from the beginning there was a purpose in their meeting. It was like he picked her right out of the crowd. He wined and dined her for the first few days. He had a look that could only be described as graceful. His eyes were captivating. She could not help the wetness that stayed between her legs with anticipation. She wanted him raw inside of her. She needed to feel his hot sperm inside of her body. She needed to feel like a woman, not a prostitute.

On the third day, he brought her roses and kissed her so passionately, it took her breath away. She had never felt so emotionally connected to a man. He made her feel loved and wanted throughout the night. When he exploded in her body, she dozed off into a peaceful sleep. When she awakened, he was gone as if he was never there. The only thing that assured her it was not a dream was the roses left on the night stand. She noticed a small envelop beside it. She relaxed on the bed and opened the envelope and retrieved a card. It read, "Tic Tock said the clock," Natas. She did not have a clue to what it meant. It made no difference to her. He had caught her up in the romance and her mind could not think of anything else. She felt like a woman again.

As she took her shower, her thoughts stayed on Natas. She knew absolutely nothing about him. She got dressed, picked up her roses and walked out of the hotel. She felt she would never see him again. As she thought that thought, she felt something move in her stomach. She first dismissed it, but everything became perfectly clear, 'Tic tock said the clock.'

Misty had her own way of thinking. She believed in her heart her purpose in life was short. She did not know around what corner, down what alley or in what sleazy hotel room her destiny awaited her. Her motto became, "fuck tomorrow let it get here then I'll worry about it."

Charles had become so stressed out, he was a wreck. Misty was getting bigger by the day. She was totally out of control. She turned her body into a war zone. She partied and went out everyday, but would not have sex with anyone. She did not understand why she was doing it or why she felt the way she did. And she would not allow herself to worry about it. She could not control whatever craving she was having. She knew she was carrying a girl. She was able to feel her every move.

Charles tried everything to calm Misty down but nothing he did or said pleased her. He really thought the baby she was carrying was him. If he knew the truth, he would take a knife and cut his own throat. Even though there have been times when he had thought about killing himself, he would have without a doubt. Now, once again, he feels as if life has dealt him another shitty hand.

When Misty's water broke, she was out partying. She walked out of the club, flagged down a cab and had the driver take her to the hospital. At first, she thought giving birth would be a piece of cake. However, before the baby made it into the life, it caused her more pain than she had thought possible. She cursed heaven. She despised Eve for bringing this curse on women. She hated the pain that seemed to have no end. She was disgusted with the weight she had put on during her pregnancy. She disliked the enlargement of her breasts, although she could tell men was finding them mouth watering delicious. She cursed everything that came to mind. When it was all said and done, she felt like an old woman in a twenty-two year old body. She was drained of all energy.

Misty had slept until the next afternoon. She was awakened when she heard a door open. It was the nurse pushing a bassinet into the room. "Here's your beautiful baby girl," the nurse said as she reached the side of the bed. It was the prettiest baby she had ever seen. She looked down with that smile of a proud mother.

"Tiffany is your name, but I'm calling you Tick Tack," Misty said without realizing she had spoken out loud.

"That is a beautiful name. I especially love the name Tick Tack. She is gonna be something special," the nurse responded as she handed Misty the baby's bottle. "If you don't want to use a bottle, it's alright. You can breast feed her." Then the nurse turned and walked out. 'Breasts feed,' that bitch must be crazy. My milk is probably contaminated, much shit as I have been into for the last nine months.' She placed the nipple of the bottle into Tick Tack's mouth.

As she watched the baby sucking on the bottle, she could not help but think, despite everything she had said and done during her pregnancy, she is glad the baby made it through. She now had someone to love unconditionally, a part of herself.

Misty noticed Tick Tack was looking up at her with bright pretty eyes. "Hey, welcome into this fucked up world, baby girl. You are indeed a survivor. The only one that will ever be able to take you down is the Devil himself. IU cannot tell you what life will hold in store for you. But I can assure you, you won't get something for nothing." Tick Tack was just looking up as she sucked on her bottle as if she understood everything that was being told to her. "Don't except the world to bestow honor and shower you with gifts because you are here. The world does not owe you anything. You will have to give to get. And remember this, fair exchange is robbery. You need to come out on top of every situation." She looked back down and Tick Tack was sound asleep. She removed the bottle and sat it on the stand. She lifted her baby up and gently kissed her on the mouth. "Sleep tight, the world will be here when you awakening."

CHAPTER 8

"Sick and tired of being sick and tired, then do what you need to do."

Charles was not only upset, but furious when he found out Misty had the baby without him knowing. "What good could you have been here?" Misty asked as she was waiting to be discharged.

"I could've been supportive," Charles insisted.

"Supportive how, what was you going to do, bear the pain as I pushed her out? Niggah, be serious. They would not have let you in smelling like alcohol. In fact, I'm surprised they let you in now." Before he could reply, the nurse walked in with the baby. He made a move to get her but Misty beast him to it. He looked down at the baby and for the first time in years he felt a streak of pride, but Misty snatched it away just as quickly. She gave him a look that said he had no business feeling pride about anything. This was her daughter, not his. That look caused him to feel disturbed and sad. Although he believed he was reading something that wasn't there, it still did not stop him from feeling the way he did.

A few months later, Charles had gotten in touch with a friend he had met in the Navy that owned a security company in Baltimore, Maryland. Not only did he set him up with a job, he secured him an apartment. Charles assured him he was on his way. However, when he hung up the phone, he was not sure that he could persuade Misty to leave Virginia. He surely hoped he could. He believed a change would be the best thing for them.

When he brought the idea to Misty, he was surprised that no persuasion was necessary. Misty was ready to get out of the town and Virginia. She was ready to move her act to another stage.

When they arrived in Baltimore, his friend kept his word. He had an apartment awaiting them and a job which he was to start the following week as a security guard for a major warehouse.

Three months later, Charles felt the change was the best thing that could have happened for them. Unfortunately, he did not see the restlessness brewing up in Misty. She had been giving all her attention to Tick Tack. And in reality, she was simply keeping Charles from trying to develop a relationship with her because she knew he was not her father and he was his father's son.

Misty was plotting her course for sure. She had built a relationship with Amanda, an older woman that lived across the hall from her on the first floor. It was a well kept building that housed two tenants upstairs and two downstairs.

It was several weeks later when Misty put her plan into action. Amanda had agreed to go out with her and show her around. Charles felt comfortable with the idea. Amanda was old enough to be Misty's mother, if not her grandmother. He felt there was only so much she could do and he could have some quality time with Tick Tack, which Misty was not allowing.

They ended up in a club called, "Outlaw." When you looked at most of the people hanging out in and around it, they truly looked like criminals on the run. The bar looked like any typical ghetto neighborhood hangout. It held about thirty or so people if they were right on top of each other. To get from the front to the back, you would literally have to brush up against people sitting on the stools around the bar.

When you walked in, immediately to your right were two booths stationed against the wall with a big picture window with a neon sign hanging in the middle of it. The people in the booths had prime seats. They could feast their eyes on all that was moving on the streets and they could be seen.

On the left wall, as soon as you walked in, mirrors were pasted over it. How ironic. People do not go to a bar to look at themselves. They go to get away from themselves and forget their troubles, although they would never admit it. All you need to do is ask yourself, what do alcohol do for you?

The bar was circular. Between the bar and the booths was a small dance area which could hold possibly four dance couples. The main dance area was located in the back of the club. It may have held seven dance couples if you did not mind your partner bumping butts with other couples. People pretended not to notice the closeness. May be it was allowing them to feel the place was crowded and jumping. Or it was simply a place they felt they could let their hair down. Whichever the case may have been, people were appearing to be having a good time. The bartenders were busy; the music was playing, people were laughing and dancing. They were having a good old time.

Misty and Amanda finally made their way to the back of the bar, but they were unable to locate any stools, so they just stood at the opening of the bar. They placed their orders and began to check out the faces around the bar. Misty turned quickly when she felt a hand grabbing her ass. A man with bad teeth, bad breath and a shitty smile on his face was looking down at her. Misty moved a little to her right and said, "Niggah, you got to be crazy, if I wanted my ass grabbed I would have stayed at home."

"My name is Cowboy, sugar. What's yours?" He asked as if he was God's gift to women. Amanda was about to say something but Misty held up her hand.

"I actually don't give a fuck who you are." Miles Davis had just finishing up a tune, Billy boy, on the jukebox. "If you put your hand on my ass again, I'll take this beer bottle and see if I can help knockout the rest of those fucked up teeth in yo mouth."

"Cowboy, leave that woman alone," someone said. He ignored him.

"Bitch," Cowboy said with spit spraying out of his mouth. This caused Misty to back up a step or so. "you must think you're God's treat to mankind. I have refused, in my life time, bitches that looked better than you. I wouldn't let my dog…"

"Listen mothafucka," Misty said cutting him off. "I don't give-a-fuck what you did or who you turned down, that's not the issue here. Keep your hands in your pants and play with yourself, I don't care. But keep them off my ass. And to put an end to this, if I had a choice between you or your dog, I'd rather take the dog as long as it didn't breathe in my face."

The bar roared with laughter. Cowboy did not only feel insulted and beat up verbally by a woman, he felt shame and humiliation. It all turned to anger. "You dirty mouth ho," he screamed from the top of his lungs. Before his fist could reach its target, someone grabbed his arm.

"Cowboy, you gotta leave," the person said. And before he could snatch his arm away, someone else grabbed the other one. He looked at Misty with a look that caused her to shiver slightly.

"Bitch, we'll meet again," he said as they were escorting him out. Misty stared at him and just couldn't hold her tongue.

"Yo mamma is a better bitch than me, she had you. I would've killed you in the womb, bastard." Cowboy tried to break loose but the two men held him firmly and got him out the door.

After a few moments, the smoke had cleared and Misty had regrouped her composure. Everything was back to normal. The show was over and someone played another jazz tune from the jukebox. Misty turned to Amanda said, "Lets do our thing girl." Amanda just shook her head. She knew this was the one and only time she would go out with Misty or anyone else for that matter.

Misty met George shortly after the incident with Cowboy. She did not realize it was George that first grabbed Cowboy and escorted him out of the bar. George may have been five foot six, but he was heavily built. Working construction most of his life contributed to his not becoming overly fat at sixty-two years of age.

George owed a small construction company for the last several years. He was now doing less of the actual work and more of running the business. So his belly had begun to lay over the edge of his pants. George was an ordinary looking guy, according to public standards. He had two gold caps on the right side of his mouth. It gave him a country boy look. But people that knew him knew better. He could hold his won with any trickster. However, when it came to women, he could not hold his dick in his hand properly.

He had been married twice and divorced. After his second divorce, he realized he liked the company of young women and it did not require a marriage commitment. Yes, a little money, but that was a small price to pay, in fact, a lot less money and problems. He had gone through two homes and two bank accounts in his marriages. All he wanted now was a beautiful young girl to share some of his lonely nights with and he was will to pay for it.

Misty immediately impressed upon him mot only was she beautiful, but witty, charming and more then willing. He immediately realized that she was a force he has never dealt with before, but he was confident he could handle the challenge. He just wanted to keep her for awhile. Unfortunately for him, he did not realize Misty was not to be kept. He would realize she was only the joy of the moment out of a minute. The rest of the hour she was a living hell. "Are you ready to go?" Amanda asked at closing time.

"Yeah, but not to go home," Misty responded. "We'll drop you off." Amanda could only smile and shake her head.

When Amanda walked into the building, Charles was at the door. "Where's Misty?" He asked. "She knows I have to be to work by five-thirty this morning." Charles had a look on his face that almost made her feel sorry for him.

"She stayed to have a few more drinks. Bring the baby over I'll watch her until she gets home if she is not home by the time you need to leave." With that said she unlocked to door and rushed inside. She did not want to answer anymore questions.

When Amanda closed the door behind her, she kicked off her shoes to relax her feet. It had been years since she had been out to a bar. She was no longer into the bar scene. As she remembered herself at that age. She was not as pretty as Misty, but just a wild. She had played the bars and men most of her life until she met Joe. Joe was a white man that fell in love with her. You can say it was her blessing. She was forty-five and Joe was in his early seventies. She does not know why fate turned a favorable hand on her life at such an age. She could not think of anything she had done deserving it. She had simply been a good person all her life and the abuse she endured growing up turned her to drugs, alcohol and many relationships that left her more abused. But she was forever thankful for where she was at in her life today.

She really could not say she loved Joe in return, but she did appreciate the life he provided for her. She could not remember how they had met. She was drunk enough for three people one night, when she woke up he was in her bed. Two years later, they were married. They moved into the apartment she now lived in.

Joe had brought her into a world she did not know existed. The first year of their marriage was taken out of a fairytale story. Then all of a sudden, tragedy awakened the sleeping princess. Joe just dropped dead on the living room floor. He died from an apparent heart attack. He died with a smile on his face. Amanda grieved for months. Shortly after Joe's death, a lawyer came to see her. Joe had quite a bit of money put away. He had no other relatives. She was left enough money to carry her for the rest of her life. And the building they lived in was his and he willed it to her.

Just like with Joe, no one knew he owed the building and she kept ownership a secret from even the rental agency. Everything goes through the lawyer as always. She spends her time these days just reading her bible, sewing and watching television. She feels blessed to have made it off the streets and to be blessed with a good, caring man that provided for her. She is thankful because she knew the only thing the streets held was jail, drugs, alcohol and death, and not necessaries in that order.

She knew Misty had a sharp tongue and a wicked heart for men. She feared for her. She knew in the darkness of the night, creatures hid in the shadows, lurking for their prey. These creatures have no soul, or conscience. They have no pity when they trap you in your own selfishness and greed. And the streets will deafen its ears to your pleading and screaming. The streets declare its own law, which is, survival of the fittest. The strong will reign until a stronger force come along. The rules are simple, play or be played on.

A knock or knocks awakened Amanda. She hadn't realized she had dozed off. It was Charles bringing the baby over. By the time she closed the door, the phone rung. She knew it could be no one but Misty. "Hi darling," Misty said, "is what's his name gone?"

"Yes, he just brought the baby over."

"Would you mine terribly watching her until about noon?"

"Of course not dear, he's a little doll."

"You're such a sweetheart."

"I know." Amanda said and hung up.

Misty arrived home about noon as promised. She was carrying several bags. She had gotten several outfits for the baby, with shoes. And she got herself a few things. What surprised Amanda was Misty had gotten her a sweater. Misty considered it an old lady sweater, but Amanda found it beautiful. "That wasn't necessary." Amanda protested.

"I know," Misty countered.

"Thank you very much."

"You're welcome."

"So George is a pretty nice guy huh?"

"He's alright, but nothing to write home about."

"What about Charles?"

"What about him?"

"I'm not telling you how to handle your life or relationship. However, people will only take so much before they strike back."

"I know you're right, however, I cannot help being me. I never hid this fact from people that took interest in me. They can choose to live with it or without it.

"Well, what about the baby?"

"I didn't have her for him. I had her for myself. If he gets a chance to hold her, it's special. Plus…" Misty began telling her the truth. Amanda sat there listening attentively. When Misty was done, Amanda did not say anything. Misty picked up the baby from Amanda's bed. When she kissed her, she woke up. She did not cry. She just looked up at her mother with a smile. "I'll see you later. It's been a long night. Say bye to grandma," Misty said to Tick Tack as she held her up so Amanda could kiss her and turned and left. Amanda walked them to the door. As she stood in the doorway until Misty got into her apartment. She could not help but think that a man will never tame that mare he would have to kill her first.

It was a few months after Tick Tack had turned one that Charles came home drunk. Misty had gotten very little sleep because she had been out most of the night and Tick Tack was being a baby. She was demanding some attention. Charles was determined to say what he needed to say. Misty was trying to doze off. "Misty," Charles said. "I need to talk with you."

"Well, talk," Misty said with a bad attitude because now she was mad.

"I have tried more than anyone to make this marriage work, but you have gone out of your way to tear it down. I love you more than any person could love another, buy you have squeezed the life out of my heart. You were right, you not capable of loving anyone other than yourself and Tick Tack. You leave whenever you feel like it and instead of you leaving Tick Tack with me you take her over your friend, Amanda's house. It's like I'm not good enough for her or you. You have no regards for my feelings. It's like I'm nobody in your eyes. You have disrespected everything a man could stand for. I…"

"Charles," Misty shouted, cutting him off. "let's cut through the bullshit, what is the bottom line here? I am not in the mood for a lecturing."

"This is exactly what I mean, you're on cold-hearted bitch."

"Let me correct you," Misty said interjecting once again. "I'm a good, cold-hearted bitch. Now, what is this conversation boiling down too? Are you trying to tell me you're leaving? My question to you would be why are you still standing there looking like a puppy waiting to go outside to piss? Let's no try to explain shit, just get yo shit and let the door see yo back."

Charles just stood there, frozen in anger. He wanted so badly just to grab her by the neck and choke the life out of her. She needed to die. The world should not have to deal with such a pathetic, heartless bitch. Misty must have read his thoughts, "If you put your hands on me, they'll put yo ass under the jailhouse when I'm through with you." Those words brought him out of his trance. He knew putting his hands on her wasn't the solution. He knew one day, he would have his turn. He would be vindicated and she will meet her maker, the Devil.

"You can have it all I don't even want my clothes. Give them to one of yo niggahs," Charles said as he started for the door.

Misty started to say something, but changed her mind. When he opened to door, he threw the house keys on the floor and slammed the door behind him. She felt more relief than she had felt in years. To her it was a problem solved. She looked at the keys on the floor and thought, 'I gotta get the locks changed today.'

CHAPTER 9

"The dice are rolled, snake eyes, the grim reaper smiles."

Tick Tack was now three. It had been close to two years since Charles had left. It was like he was never there. If not for his occasional phone calls to Amanda, his name would have been long forgotten. Amanda did not like him calling because he spoke as if he could not let go of Misty. She worried. She would speak to him more out of respect then anything else. After several minutes, she would find an excuse to hang up.

Misty was now twenty-five years old. She had ripened even more beautifully. She was young, beautiful and wild as an untamed mare. She was marching to the beats of life with no fear of what tomorrow could bring. Everything was coming up roses for her. Everything she touched seemed to turn to gold.

Tick Tack had become very attached to her mother and Amanda. They spent a lot of time together. They developed a bond between them that was sincere and loving. Amanda considered herself a mother to Misty and a grandmother to Tick Tack. She found happiness in their relationship. Misty took on the feelings of Amanda's motherhood. They were one big happy family.

On occasions, Misty would put lipstick on Tick Tack and let her try to walk in a pair of her high heel shoes. Tick Tack found it wasn't possible so she did the next best thing; she put on her mother's slippers. One day Amanda came over and saw Tick Tack trying to walk in Misty's shoes, she laughed so hard she cried. It was a sight you would have to see to appreciate. "She is going to be so beautiful." Amanda said as she wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks. When she was able to compose her laughing she added, "She is going to be something special." Misty was about to say something but changed her mind. A feeling came over her that she could not explain so she let the thought go.

Outside of their close knit circle, no one had a clue as to what was going on. George was cursing himself for getting too involved with a bitch as cruel as Misty. She got him acting like a kid with a schoolboy crush. He knew she was involved with someone else and he could not contain the jealous rage that was burning within him as if he was being cremated alive. He could not find away to make her happy. He offered to marry her several times and she turned him down. He offered to put her and Tick Tack in a home, she declined. The few times she brought Tick Tack with her she would not allow him to touch her. She simply did not allow men fondling her daughter. She knew some men lacked good intentions. She really did not care who the man was or what their intentions were, she frowned down on it. Therefore, she did not allow it.

What hurt George the most, when she told him he was simply an old, stupid, silly man that could not keep his nose from under a young girl's skirt. At the start of their relationship she allowed him sexual gratification on several occasions and she would demand the use of a condom. She made sure it was on and had no holes or tears in it. Now she would frown if he even touched her. He's like a heroin addict when it came to her, he needed his fix. He needed to satisfy his demanding cravings for her. But she refused to be a willing party to his addiction.

But how he longed to lie between her young, soft and tender thighs, and suck on the ripeness of her nipples, taste the witness between her legs. Oh, how he could not shake that unquenchable desire to taste the sweetness of her lips. Oh, how he longed to cut her throat so she could no longer pierce his heart with such shame and disgrace. 'One day,' he would often think to himself, 'the wrath of vengeance will claim its victim and I'll have salvation.'

Then there was Peterson, who she has been dealing with for about a year. The first time she gave him sex, he did not even know she had slipped a condom on him, she thought the man would lose his mind. "Can't you stay the night?" He asked. "I know I'm an older man, but I can provide for you very well." Misty looked at him as if he was crazy.

"That's very nice of you but I'm afraid I can't do that, I have a daughter."

"That's great. Here," he said taking his wallet from the dresser and handing her three one hundred dollar bills. Misty knew she had him.

"You can't buy me," Misty said as if she was offended.

"Oh no, that's not what I 'm trying to do. I'm only giving you a little something to help you and your daughter out. You gave me a blessing tonight and this is only a statement of my gratitude. I would feel honored if you accept this money as such." Misty knew he was not sincere, she could see right though it. However, before she would accept the money she had to lay her rules down.

"Listen, I don't play games. I don't play someone stalking me or putting their hands on me for any reason. And you don't set any rules, this way I don't have to break them. I don't allow anyone to my house and I don't have a phone for anyone to call me. The moment you violate, there's no second chance, no discussing it. The relationship will end immediately. Now if you agree with those terms, I'll take serious thoughts about a relationship." Misty said taking the money out of his hand.

"I have no problems with it," he said happily.

"That is what the mouth says. We'll see as time goes on."

Within the next six months Misty acquired another gentleman friend. His name was June Bug, as he was called. He was in his last sixties and had an easy, soft personality. He made no demands. He was happy for anytime he got from Misty. He was pretty well set up financially for life. No one knew where he got his money, and Misty cared the less. He never spoke of it and she never asked.

Misty never investigated any man she dealt with. She just had this built-in sense that allowed her to always pick the ones she could control and would provide nicely for her and Tick Tack. She did not care if the money was attracted to her or her to it, they would always end up together. All she knew, she was pulling life by the teeth and she was enjoying every minute of it.

This particular night, Misty just wanted to go out alone and enjoy herself. She did not want to be bothered by any man. She wanted to go out and have a good time. It was eleven o'clock in the evening, a time people will start gathering in the clubs and streets, so she decided to do just that. She went next door and informed Amanda so she could come over and get Tick Tack that was asleep in her bed.

She picked out a provocative outfit, a mini-dress, made of satin with matching shoes and purse. She decided to put on her makeup before dressing. The mood she was in brought her over to the radio and turned it on. The Temptations filled the speakers, "I can turn back the hands of time you better believe I can. I can make the seasons change, just by the wave of my hand." Misty leaned on the dresser as she started applying her makeup, moving her hips seductively to the beat. "I can change anything from old to new, but the things I want to do the most, I'm unable to do. With all the power I possess, girl, you're the key to my happiness." Misty had finished putting on her makeup, lipstick and was dancing in front of the mirror. She joined in with the Temptations, " I can't get next to you. Girl, you're blowing my mind." She devilishly smiled to herself in the mirror.

From the mirror, she saw Amanda walking into the bedroom. "Look at you girl," Amanda said stopping midway into the room. You look sexy, elegant and like a special treat. She did look like a black Cinderella waiting for her coach to arrive. "Men is going to look and bitches are gonna hate, so you be careful."

"Yes, mother dear," Misty said grabbing a bottle of perfume off the top of the dresser, spraying a little behind each ear. Then slightly opening her legs, she sprayed once between them.

"Girl, you're losing it," Amanda said as she just stared at her. "What you're expecting someone to put their face between your legs?"

"Most men are quite hungry," she said laughing at her own humor, although she knew it was true. "I'm going to Club Savannah. I might meet my prince in shining armor, so don't wait up."

"I never do. Have fun."

"You know me mother, I'm that type of girl." Misty leaned down on the bed and kissed Tick Tack. She started to kiss her again, but Amanda interrupted it.

"Don't wake her up. The child needs her rest. I'll stay here until you get back. We'll see you then." They heard a car horn blow. "That's your cab." Misty went over and hugged Amanda and picked up her purse and headed for the door.

"See you later," Misty said over her shoulder.

"Be careful," Amanda once again said.

"Yes," Misty shouted as she closed the door behind her.

The club was jumping and people were letting their hair down. Misty was drinking and having a lot of fun. She would dance with men, but refused all offers of drinks and conversations. She brought her own money for that purpose. She just wanted to have a good time without being bothered by anyone. She was having so much fun it reminded her of the times her and Martha would go out. She missed her friend and felt shame because she had not thought about her in quite some times. She will remind herself to call Mary and see how she was doing.

Her mood was blissful. What she did not realize was, there was a pair of eyes watching her every move from the shadows. Eyes that promised to wait patiently. Eyes that spoke without saying a word.

It was three o'clock in the morning, people had started leaving. She turned down several rides. She started to get a cab, but at the last moment, changed her mind. She lived within walking distance, so she decided to walk because it was such a beautiful night.

A few block from her house as she was crossing the street of an alley, something pulled her into it. From the street light, she was only able to see a shadow of a face. "What the…" It was all she was able to say before everything went black. When she opened her eyes, it was looking down at her with flames of fire coming out of its eyes. It appeared to her to be some kind of beast with horns. She knew instantly it was the one from her dreams. 'It finally got me,' she quickly thought to herself. She knew it was the end. "I'll see you in hell." It was all she was able to say before a swift movement of its arm caused her hands to go to her throat, but it was too late, she felt no pain.

It got up and was about to turn but stopped and looked deeper into the alley. It sensed a pair of eyes watching with fear and excitement. It knew the eyes and nodded its head as if saying, I'll be to see you one day. It turned and disappeared as if in thin air.

When the pair of eyes was sure that the thing was gone, he emerged from his hiding place. He walked over to where Misty lifeless body laid and knelt down beside her. He removed her stockings and panties. "Dead or alive, I'm gonna enjoy you one more time, bitch."

When he had satisfied himself, he fixed himself up. He reached in his coat pocket and retrieved a revolver. When the two bullets hit Misty's body, it caused it to twitch. He shoved the gun back in his pocket and walked out the alley. It wasn't what he did to Misty that caused fear, but what he saw, he will never be able to forget.

In the twilight hours of the night, the streets were quiet. The sounds of a gunshot did not cause a light to come on anywhere nor a head to peep out of a window. People knew that daylight would bring with it the news. The streets would talk of the brutal misdeed that had taken place. Some would cry, some would only shake their heads in disbelief, and yet some would simply say, "when you play, you have to pay." That's the unwritten code of the streets.

Misty no longer had to worry about anything. She was lying in an alley with her dress pulled up to her waist. She had been raped, shot twice in her chest and her throat was cut opened. Yes, this was an act of brutalization. Misty wouldn't see justice for herself, but somewhere, somehow, the scales of justice will balance out. Everyone must pay the piper when he plays your tune.

CHAPTER 10

"The things we do for love, hate and vengeance."

The next morning when Misty did not return home or called, Amanda knew something wrong had happened to her. She could feel it in her bones. She prayed anyways. Later that afternoon, two police officers came to her door with the news of Misty's murder. And said they would need for her to identify the body at the morgue. At that moment, Tick Tack came to the door, "Mamma." She said looking pass the men standing in the door entrance.

"No baby," Amanda said as she gently lifted her p into her arms. She went into the house and called upstairs to have the couple's daughter come downstairs and watch Tick Tack for a few minutes while she made a few runs.

When she got down to the morgue, she maintained her composure until they pulled out the steel draw and she saw Misty's body. When they told her what had been done to her, she burst into uncontrollable sobbing. When she finally regained some control over herself, the police asked her a number of questions. However, she was unable to answer any of them that might help them to understand the brutal and inhumane act that had been done. But on her way back home, she thought of several people who would have found pleasure in committing such an act, however, she will keep it to herself.

Amanda made all the funeral arrangement. She went to the funeral parlor and dressed Misty in a white silk dress. A white scarf around her neck to hid the hideous slash that ended her life and fixed her hair the way she would have liked it.

The funeral was so sad, at least for Amanda. Misty looked as if she was just sleeping. She was glad she decided not to bring Tick Tack. She was too young to have to witness such sadness.

Misty, like Carol, did not make friends easily. You would not have thought so if you seen the amount of flowers surrounding the casket. The only one in attendance was Amanda, George, Peterson and June Bug. Although Charles was informed, he did not show up. This did not surprise or disappoint Amanda. She suspected everyone.

There were no conversations everyone was lost in their own thoughts, their own grief. However, the men looked at each other from time to time with suspicion. It was a look that said, "You did it."

Amanda thought back to when she informed Charles of Misty's death. There was no surprise in his voice. She wished at that time she could see his face. When she hung up the phone and it rung seconds later, she just stood there frozen in anger. She stared at the phone as if it was going to bite her, as if it was something new, something she had never seen before. She could not shake this feeling that Charles actually committed this hideous act. Although the police theorized it was more than one attacker, she just felt he was one of them. They knew it was the stash in the throat that killed her. However, they could not identify the object that was used. They did know it was something other than a knife or razor. They also knew she was raped and shot twice in the chest after she was dead. Amanda knew in her heart that whoever was responsible for any parts of it would be unable to live with themselves, unless it was the Devil himself. In other words, other then the Devil, they will be unable to cope with their lives.

Everyone she knew who had dealt with Misty ran through her mind at one point or another. She found them all guilty of murder by thought. No one could win her heart, so someone would rather see her dead then to see her with someone else or the share her with someone else. Hate, love and vengeance is the most powerful weapon one can possess. All three men sitting in the room harbored the act in their hearts at one time or another.

The preacher Amanda arranged to do Misty's service arrived. He walked to the front and looked into the casket. A sorrowful expression covered his face. "We're gathered here," he began, "to say goodbye to a mother and a friend to others and a tragedy to us all. One cannot help but ask themselves, what went wrong? We grab hold of life only to realize we can't keep it. We are on borrowed time. It's the moments we live and share with others that really count. This lovely creature of God has gone beyond our vision, far beyond our understanding. She has now found peace. She has now found rest in the bosom of God. But God has declared a day of judgment, when all souls…" The preacher voice begins to rise to a screaming pitch. "will be called up and the wicked shall be separated from the righteous. The wicked can neither run nor hide from the wrath of that day. You must stand accountable for your actions here on earth. No wrong deed will go unpunished.

No one is authorized by God to take a life. He gave life so we can live it abundantly. But the Devil with his bag of tricks is the only author of destruction. He feeds your mind with evil thoughts and feelings. He'll make you act off those thoughts and feelings. You will answer to them not in the here after but in the here and now." The preacher stopped and looked down at Misty lying in her eternal bed and shook his head again. "someone will feel the wrath of god for this crime that displayed senselessness, resentment, hatred and brutalization of a child of God. Oh wickedness, you will reap what you have sown." The preacher threw his eyes upward and with the power and force of sincerity, he continued.

"Open up the eyes of her daughter, oh Lord. Smooth the rough roads that will be ahead for her. She does not know yet the evil that's in the world. The Devil seeds his own children from his own loin. He will rise up an army in the final days, but the Devil was doomed from the beginning, however, he fights continuously. So Heavenly Father, bless the child and direct her feet. If the Devil have made plans for her, intercept and let her seeds find their blessings in you.

Accept the soul of this beautiful woman and forgive all her transgressions. Forgive her; forgive her in your holy name. Amen.

It was two months later when Charles showed up to get Tick Tack. However, Amanda refused to give her to him. In fact, she called the police and had him removed from the property. Then she called her attorney. The police told Charles he needed a court order to remove the child because Amanda had gotten temporary custody since Misty's death. Now Charles would have to go to court and explain why it took him two months to come for his child or inquire about her well-being.

Amanda's lawyer was able to drag the case on for eighteen months. However, he assured her that they would lose the case, unless Social Service could find something wrong with Charles' presentation. In fact, it was too perfect. Plus the hospital had listed Charles as the father. Amanda knew Misty had to be under a sedation for her to have even spoken his name. Also Charles had no criminal record. He had a job in New York City and a decent residence, so the judge would have no choice but to rule in his favor.

Amanda made the best out of those months she was given. She loved Tick Tack as if she was her own daughter. The day the judge said to her, "Mrs. Skully, it is truly with sadness, but I have no choice but to give custody to Mr. Nelson. However, before I give this order," the judge looked over at Charles, "I promise you this sir, if anything happens to this child on your watch, you will face a wrath greater than you have ever dreamed imaginable. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, your honor," Charles responded with great convincing sincerity. Amanda felt her heart dropping into her stomach. Although she knew what the outcome was going to be, it still did not stop her reaction, she fainted.

Charles had played to game well and won. He had stopped drinking, at least when he had to go back to Baltimore for court. And he was very watchful of himself in New York because he knew they would send a caseworker around to his job and residence. He had only rented the apartment long enough for Social Services to come around and verify it. Now he could stop the charade, he had tasted victory and sent Amanda to the hospital when she fainted in the courtroom.

Amanda was broken-hearted as she watched Charles put tick Tack into the beat-up station wagon with the sheriff looking on. Tick Tack and Amanda were both crying. Amanda cried for herself, Misty and Tick Tack. She had done all she could do.

Amanda waved with tears in her eyes. She knew this goodbye was the final goodbye. Tick Tack had given her such joy, she would be in her thoughts and prayers as long as she lived and in her spirit for eternity. She will indeed be remembered and blessed and her seed when she herself passed on to her heavenly father. She would see to it. She turned and walked back into the house. When she got inside, she went to the phone and called her lawyer.

CHAPTER 11

"The truth is unwrapped in our deeds, not in our words."

Brooklyn is the home of Coney Island and the National Arts Museum. Brooklyn like any other big city has an inner city that consist of slum housing, violence, drugs, prostitution, and any other imaginable crime. The slums were designed for blacks, Spanish, and poor white folks. The slums became known as, the ghetto. Everyone pays a price to survive in it. Everyone has a hustle of some kind in the ghetto. The only group allowed to practice their special skills without severe penalties outside of the parameters of the ghetto are prostitutes. The only reason is simple, white man did not want to subject themselves to the price they would have to pay for venturing into the ghetto in search of black women. So prostitutes were and are allowed to work in designated downtown areas. However, the police will make arrest from time to time, but they do not focus solely on it. Plus, they usually only receive fines when they have been arrested a number of times. Failing to pay the fines may up them up in jail for thirty to ninety days and that's a may be.

When Charles arrived in Brooklyn, he went straight to his aunt's house, his mother's sister. Beth Ann unlike his mother was street smart. She operated an after hours spot in her house. There was liquor, drugs, prostitution, and gambling from sunset to sunrise. Many, many days the gambling would go on for days. This would cause more liquor to be sold and more girls working at their special skills. This is why Charles had to rent an apartment in the first place. He knew child Service would not have accepted those conditions for a child to grow up around. Plus, it would have brought attention to Beth Ann's after hours spot. And Amanda would have made sure of it.

He knew he would have never gotten custody if they were able to see pass the front. He was no longer able to accept responsibilities or he just did not want to since breaking up with Misty. He worked only to supply himself with alcohol, wine, beer and a prostitute here and there. He was without a doubt a functional alcoholic, at least for the moment. But we know that time has a story of its own.

Beth Ann over the years has dealt with many shapes of street players. She at one time hustled the street corners for a pimp. But after two near death episodes, she decided just to keep a sugar daddy and be a hard to live with bitch. The girls she allowed to work in her house would come and go. She received a percentage of the money a girl would make per date. Usually, the trick would pay for the use of the room and whatever else, drinks, etc., they may need. If a girl was willing to work, Beth Ann could usually provide them with several tricks throughout the night.

Beth Ann ran a tight ship. The players that came to the house were top hustlers in their craft. They spent money like they had a never ending flow. Every night the craps and poker tables took on a life of their own. But the only one that seemed to win every night was the house. Beth Ann would get a cut from all the tables, craps and cards. She would profit from the liquor sales, and the money the tricks paid for the girls. She would also sell dinners, mainly on the weekends but if people were spending she would put on her apron with no second thoughts. She would keep the liquor pouring, the pots on the stove, the music playing, the tricks smiling, the craps rolling and the cards flipping.

She would keep the problems down as much as possible, but she could not stop them from happening. However, the majority of times, she kept them from escalating. One incident occurred over several thousand dollars that almost turned into a murder.

"Niggah, if you or yo ho touch that money somebody will sure as shit meet their maker this morning," Ice Pick shouted, which made an impression on all sitting at the tab le except the one he was talking to.

Ice Pick was born Willie Sanders. He earned his nickname while doing time in Auburn Prison in New York State for manslaughter. He kept a shank (a jail house knife) as they are called, every moment in prison. He refused to be someone's bitch or punk. So to get his message across he stabbed a few of the tough guys to let everybody know it was not a game.

As the years went by in prison, he built a solid body from all the weights he lifted in the prison yard. He lifted crazy weights, but he never lifted a book, unless it was a short eye (pictures of nude women). He was not all that bright. He had learned the art of bullshitting and how to fight real well. While in prison, he was always questioned about the many stabbings, but he had a good, "I'm just a dumb niggah, game."

His reputation preceded him to the streets. There were several murders shortly after he got home and his name was brought up in each one of them. But they could never prove anything. This helped to inflate his already enlarged ego. Ice Pick stood about six foot one with two hundred and thirty pounds behind his blackness. He was blacker that the ace of spades. He had big lips and evil eyes, and a bad attitude. So there was not many to challenge him one on one.

"You lost fair and square, Ice Pick," the dealer said with no force behind his words.

"Fuck you niggah. You ain't got a dime in this dollar. So

If you put yo mothafuckin' mouth in my business again…"

"Wait a minute, Ice," Sweet Pea said, cutting in.

"First tell yo ho to stand down," Ice Pick said glancing out the corner of his eye catching Pepper with her hand in her pocketbook. Sweet Pea just nodded his head and Pepper dropped her hand to her side. What Ice Pick did not realize, Sweet Pea was holding a thirty-eight revolver under the table and it was pointing at Ice Pick's gut.

Sweet Pea was considered a major league pimp. He had twelve prostitutes working from Hunt's Point to Park Avenue in New York City. He made more money in a night than Ice Pick could and would touch in a month. Pepper was his bottom girl and would have put a knife in Ice Pick heart before he could whistle, Freddie's dead.

Pepper was an exception to the rules for a black street hustler. She was from Connecticut. She had received her Bachelor's degree in Business Administration from a New York University. When she met Sweet Pea, she left the promise of the American dream for the streets of brutal reality. Her body was a creation that could only have been formed by an artist, to erect, provoke, and tempt man into sin. Everything she wore was tailored to the curves of her body. She stood out like the moon in a black sky. Her face held beauty hostage and should have been on every cover of a woman's magazine. But she would cut your throat before you could blink an eye. She was known on the streets as one that was swift to act with very few words. Pepper was serious about her profession. She was not one to play with and Ice Pick knew it.

Sweet Pea grew up throughout New York City. He came from a dysfunctional family of six. His mother was an alcoholic that would sleep with any man that would buy her a few drinks. They lived in one rat and roach infested apartment after another. In the winter they froze and in the summer the heat would get them. They would wear whatever clothing they could get. Their mother just had them. They had to look out for each other. Not one of them knew their father. They believed their mother did not even know. They considered themselves, mutts. They were just a litter from a dog bitch.

Sweet Pea understood how heartless the streets could be. His two older brothers were killed in an attempted robbery. The youngest brother was doing time for a drug charge. He made sure he did want for anything. He even got him a girl to go up and see him on a regular bases.

His oldest sister, unfortunately, was a cold-blooded junkie and he refused to see her sick. He had his partner, Snake a big time dope dealer, looked out for her and he would pick up the tab. However, Snake would look out a lot of times without charging Sweet Pea because they had grew up under the same conditions. She did not even know she had angels watching over her.

When he did not hear from her within a week, he would go looking for her. When he found her he would get her a room for a month if she had no place to live until her brought a building and game her an apartment in it. She did not even know she had angels watching over her.

He would buy her clothes and keep food in her apartment. But he would never buy her drugs, not personally anyways. He had stopped preaching to her about the use of drugs and the destruction it could bring. He loved his siblings. He understood their pain and shame.

He spoke to his baby sister often. She had finished college and moved to Boston, Massachusetts. She was now a registered nurse, working and was getting ready to marry a doctor. He was very proud of her and would be there to walk her down the aisle. Hopefully, he could get his other sister to come with him. He doubted it, but he would try.

After their mother died, he felt relieved because that woman only gave to herself and her child a very hard life. She could not give love because she had none for herself. He tried to hate her, but he could only feel pity. Now this ugly niggah is sitting across from him trying to front as he was truly built like that. But Sweet Pea thought to himself, 'This stupid niggah, I could end his life this very moment. I could take him down without him knowing he was dead. However, I won't let him play me out of pocket. I have too much to lose and many people as well. I'll let it go for now, but tomorrow is another day.'

"If you feel I didn't win the pot fair and square, it's yours baby boy," Sweet Pea said softly, defusing the situation or at least trying to. Ice Pick looked coldly and enviously at Sweet Pea. He was dressed immaculately in a brown silk suit, a two tone brown silk tie, and brown gator shoes, a pinky ring with a diamond big enough to buy the building they were in, a flat-faced watch with diamonds, and a bracelet with diamonds surrounding it.

"I hate you pretty niggahs. Y'all think y'all God's gift to…"

"Hold on Ice Pick," Beth Ann said charging into the room with Big Roy closely behind her. "you got the pot. Now, there's nothing else to get but trouble. I'm not gonna allow one of you niggahs to have my place shut down behind some bullshit. My suggestion to you is to get yo money and get the fuck out my place."

Ice Pick looked from Beth Ann to Big Roy. Big Roy stood there looking monstrous. 'I may be stupid but I ain't a damn fool,' he thought to himself. He did not want anything to do with Big Roy. He had witnessed him do some serious body damage to several people while they were in the joint (prison) together. He was standing there looking like a pit bull with a choke chain on, waiting for the order to attack. He knew the only way he could take Big Roy down was with a Mack truck or with a bullet, lots of them. "No problem, Beth Ann," Ice Pick said as he picked up the money off the table.

"And yo money ain't good here anymore," Beth Ann said as Big Roy escorted him to the door. Ice Pick did not even bother to look back, he just shrugged his shoulders and left.

"Thanks for not turning my place into the OK Corral," Beth Ann said turning her attention back to Sweet Pea, who was putting his gun back inside his suit jacket.

"I'm about money," Sweet Pea said throwing his arms up in a hopeless jester. "Some people really don't know when they are holding the losing hand. I'm glad you showed up when you did Beth Ann. You saved the niggah's life and me from the chain gang."

"Let me fix you and yo wife a couple of dinners on the house. I know it won't make up for the pot you let him walk away with, but it will fill you up. So what will it be, chicken, pepper steak or pork chops?"

"Pepper steaks, of course," Pepper said, speaking for the first time. Although Beth Ann used the word, "wife" only as a term of endearment, Sweet Pea and Pepper had been secretly married for the last several years.

As Beth Ann walked into the kitchen to prepare the dinners, she noticed Tick Tack sitting on the steps leading to the upstairs. "What you're doin' up?" Beth Ann asked sitting next to her on the steps. Tick Tack was now ten years old. Since Charles brought her home some five years ago, she had become Beth Ann's baby girl. Beth Ann was never able to have children of her own, so Tick Tack fulfilled a void.

"I was thirsty," Tick Tack replied.

"You're always thirsty or something when things are going on down here. I think it's your curiosity that's thirsty, but it's alright baby, what do you want to drink?"

"Some Kool-Aid."

"Well lets get you yo drink so you can go back to bed. You have school tomorrow," Beth Ann said getting up from the steps.

A week after that incident with Sweet Pea and Ice Pick, Ice Pick was found shot to death as he was talking to someone on a street corner. No one had any idea who could have done it, nor did anyone care. He was just another niggah that lived by violence and died by violence. However, some considered the streets just a little bit safer.

One night Beth Ann went to Tick Tack's room, as she often did throughout the nights when people were in the house and saw Charles stretched out on her bed with his arm around her. Enough was enough. She was too big for that mess. She never said anything when she was younger, but now she just wasn't going for it. She thought of her sister Annie Mae. When she walked out, she left the door opened more than a crack.

A few years later, Tick Tack came to Beth Ann while she was in the kitchen preparing some chicken breast to cook for tonight's customers. "Aunt Beth, my stomach hurt," Tick Tack said leaning on the kitchen table for support.

"It's probable gas honey," Beth Ann said without stopping what she was doing.

"It's not gas, I'm bleeding," Tick Tack said as she started crying.

"where are you bleeding?" She asked as she placed the chicken down on the table.

"Between my legs."

"Let me see it," Beth Ann said leading Tick Tack upstairs to the bathroom.

Once inside, she had her pull her nightgown up and panties down. Her panties were soaking in blood. Beth Ann begins to laugh. This caused Tick Tack to feel embarrassed. "Child, time flies by so fast, how old are you now?"

"Twelve," Tick Tack said frowning.

"You're just having a period, sweetheart. I should have told you about things like that. It's a system God gave to us girls to clean ourselves out once a month. It will only last about four to five days. But while you're on it, you must take extra care of yo' self . Wash up and all those good things. When you're on it you use one of these," Beth Ann said as she reached in the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a box of kotex. After explaining its purpose and how to use it, Beth Ann told her to take a shower while she got her a pair of panties and another nightgown. When Beth Ann returned, Tick Tack was getting out of the shower. "Damn, child," she said, staring at Tick Tack.

"What's wrong?" Tick Tack asked bewildered.

"You're developing fast," she said, pointing at Tick Tack's breasts. "Here," handling her the panties and nightgown.

"Is that bad or good?" Tick Tack inquired.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"We'll talk about it later, okay," Beth Ann said as she handed her two Motrin pills. "These are for yo stomach. It will help you with the cramps."

Beth Ann thought to herself, 'The child's breasts are far too large for a girl her age and already she was growing hair around her private area. Yes, I'm gonna have to talk to her real soon.' She opened the door of the bathroom wide enough to walk out. She made sure no one was walking by before she walked out the door and closed it behind her. She went right to find Charles to inform him that he wasn't allowed in Tick Tack's bed and if she caught him in it, she would put him in jail. Tick Tack believed it was just fatherly love, but Beth Ann was willing to bet that love had nothing to do with it.

CHAPTER 12

"The tree produces fruit and the fruit does not fall far from it."

The next few years passed swiftly for Beth Ann. Tick Tack was about to turn fifteen years old. She had for the past few years been waking her father up for work. She would fix him coffee, make sure he had clean clothes to wear, and warm up food for him that had been left over from the night before, or whenever. She only knew the man from what she had seen as she was growing up. They never did anything together. She felt pity for him. She had no understanding as to why he lived in the bottle. When she did ask, he acted as if he was too incoherent.

She never thought anything about waking up finding him in the bed with her, several years back. In fact, that has not occurred in some time. She could not remember the last time she had awakened and found him in her bed. At times, despite his alcohol use, she would feel safe and protested when she knew he was in bed with her. Now she thinks nothing of it.

Charles appeared to have no idea what was going on around him, most of the time anyways. He just lived in the bottle of his own misery. Many nights, in the past, Tick Tack would be awakened by his screaming out the name, Misty. His dreams were haunting him. His conscience tormented him. Alcohol had become his savior. One day, when Tick Tack was ten years old she asked Beth Ann about Misty. Beth Ann said. "I honestly don't know anything about her. I do know yo father was head over heels in love with her. I believe that is what took him over the edge. She was murder back in Baltimore when you were three. After her death is when yo father went to Baltimore and brought you back."

"They weren't together at the time?" Tick Tack asked.

"No."

She had remembered bits and pieces of the woman named, Amanda. She could not bring her face into focus. However, the love and affection she showed her she could never forget. She had not bothered to ask what had happened in the years that passed. Charles never spoke of the past nor Misty. The truth of the matter was simple; he could not speak on a woman he did not know. He could not speak on a woman that had mentally, emotional, spiritually, and physically ruined him. And Tick Tack could sense the hurt and humiliation he felt.

As she sat that the table with Beth Ann she remembered, with clarity, some of the things Amanda had told her about her grandmother, Jasmine and her mother. A smile came across her face. She did not speak on it, she simply savored it.

Tick Tack's body had developed quite well for her age. At fifteen it did not have the look of maturity, but it had that 'booty call' look. And it was promising so much more. Beth Ann did not tolerate any man trying to flirt with Tick Tack in any fashion and she knew all the tricks of the trade. She has had Big Roy to escort many out the door for disrespecting her wishes.

Tick Tack was aware of her body and the affects it was having on men. However, she would not allow herself to grow up too fast. She was enjoying her childhood and adolescent developmental stages. She was not in a hurry, it would come, adulthood when it was time.

She was aware of the things going on in the house. She knew the shakers from the fakers. She knew each girl that worked or came through the house for several years now. She knew the pimps, the wannabe's, the drug dealers, and the gamblers. She had heard the game played inside out. She had heard the lies, the fronts the players put on all in the name of getting over. She had been schooled very well. She just did not have a clue as to why and it never crossed her mind. She just allowed life to take its own course.

It was a Wednesday evening, Beth Ann was getting ready for the nights action. Wednesday started the weekend for her business. Her thoughts went on Tick Tack. 'She's such a beautiful girl, with a heart of gold,' she thought to herself. She did not want anything to happen that would take her off course. She knew her house was not a good example, but she believed she needed to know the things it taught her about people. She felt it was now time to clean her own act up. She had been in the game for far too long. She felt if she did not change her directions she would have to pay the piper for playing its tunes.

Beth Ann had made Charles sign over custody of Tick Tack shortly after he brought her from Baltimore. In fact, she was the only reason she allowed him to stay there. She knew in her heart that he was not right in his heart. The day she spoke to him about being in Tick Tack's bed, the look in his eyes made her almost see into his soul and it frightened her. However, she made herself very clear, she would not tolerate it.

Beth Ann felt that he was not what he appeared to be. She felt he had a hidden agenda. She just did not know what it was. She continued to accept the few monies he gave her for rent, however, it was all for Tick Tack's sake. She actually cared nothing about Charles. He was his father's son. He was, in her opinion, a waste of a man. His brother, Ray Boy was no exception. Joanna was just a victim of bullshit. And her poor sister, Ann Mae, may her soul rest in peace. She had had such a big, warm and giving heart, but could not do any better than that niggah named, Bones that kept all his secrets in the closet. It made her wanting to cry.

The spot was jumping, as usual. Every table was in use. Money was flowing like water. She was doing all she could to keep up with the demands for drinks and dinner. Big Roy was busy watching the tables and seeing to it that the house got its cut from each game. Charles finally made it home, drunk as always, but it made no difference to her as long as he stayed out of her way. As she looked at him, something caused her to take a second look. Something did not look right with him, but she could not put her finger on it and she was too busy to worry about it.

Thursday morning Tick Tack got up, took her shower and was ready for school. When she left the house was more crowded then when she went to bed the night before. She kissed Beth Ann on the cheek and went off the school. However, when she returned Charles was sitting on the couch drunk. It was a scene she was familiar with, except, he was not usually home at this time of day. And the house had an emptiness about it, which was also usual.

Charles opened his blood shot eye when she walked in. She looked around and an expression of disbelief covered her face. The house was in shambles. "What happened here? And where is Aunt Beth?" Tick Tack asked, not yet putting the pieces together.

"In jail," Charles managed to mumble.

"In jail," Tick Tack said not realizing she was yelling. "for what?"

"I don't know," Charles said nodding back into his drunkenness.

"What are you doing here so early?" But Charles acted as if he did not hear her. She rushed out of the house and went to the building next door to Beth Ann's friend, Ruby's apartment. She knocked on the door. After a few knocks, Ruby opened the door.

"I just got off the phone with yo aunt," Ruby said as she placed a firm hand on Tick Tack's shoulder to guide her into the apartment. "I'm gonna get you something to eat as I tell you what happened, as much as I know anyways."

Ruby lead Tick tack to her modest sized kitchen and sat her down at the table. Ruby had an exceptional looking body. God had blessed her with a double dose of man's greatest temptation. She was a masterpiece in human form. She was big boned, as people would say, with solid meat wrapped around them. Her voluptuous ass would add water to a dry man's mouth. Her long, thick shapely legs would leave the doors of a man's imagination opened to the warm, wet pleasure that lay between them. Her breasts, huge yet proportionate with the rest of her body were firm, and took on the appearance of softness to the touch. As if they were clouds hiding under her covering. You would indeed desire to rest your face on them.

Ruby was not a dark chocolate, she was simply chocolate. The finger licking good type. She weighed a solid one hundred and forty or so pounds. She was without a doubt, the modern day saying, "Built like a brick house." However, Ruby was a man's dilemma. She was from her breasts to her feet, mouth watering, but from the neck up, the word would involuntarily come from your mouth, "Damn!" Your mouth would twist up as if you were sucking on a lemon. You would feel your heart drop to your feet, but it would not disturb your hard on. Her lips were short of a ducks beak. They were big and wide. Of course, a man would entertain the thought of how much extra stimulation those lips would provide once you get over the initial shock. But to find out about the extra stimulation those lips could provide would cost you, but many were willing to pay the price.

Ruby wore big earrings. Her skin was without a blemish. Her eyes were loaded with indifference. She could have been considered ugly by social standards. However, she was not ugly. She was simply, in the face, unattractive in comparison to many. Men, however, looked pass the looks. Her body was a gift to a man's fantasy. Plus her attitude was appealing and pleasant.

Tick Tack sat at ruby's kitchen table trying to add some understanding to what was going on. She just never thought of the legal consequences that were attached to what her aunt was doing. The spot had been operating since she could remember. Something triggered this action, she sensed that much. She just had no idea what it could have been. She did not know that the wheels of consequences were just set into motion. They were weaving the threads of destiny.

Tick Tack brought her mind out of the maze for a minute to allow her eyes to glance around the apartment, as much as she could see. It was small compared to Aunt Beth Ann's house. She was surprised at herself for not noticing these things before. She had been over Ruby's house many times, but had failed to pay attention. She promised herself to become more focus on details in the future. She reasoned, she would never know when it may come in handy.

Ruby brought her a plate with collard greens, rice, a pork chop dripping in gravy, and a glass of milk. "Eat," Ruby said as she went into the living room. Tick Tack sat there enjoying the food. She began to feel guilty for enjoying the food when Beth Ann was in jail. She was hoping the worst was over. Hoping that there was nothing else bad to happen. Obviously, she had never heard of, 'Murphy's Law.' "If something could go wrong, it will."

Ruby came back into the kitchen, sat at the table across from Tick Tack, and placed her half full glass of Vodka in front of her. She looked at tick Tack with so much compassion in her eyes, Tick Tack began to cry. Ruby was the type of person that cared deeply and sincerely for those close to her. To others, she was just a cold, money hungry, stuck-up black bitch. But they truly did not know her. "Go on and cry baby," Ruby said. "it may help you feel better, but it won't change a damn thing." With that said, she went silent and allow her to cry until she stopped.

"I don't know what happened," Tick Tack said after getting control of herself. "Aunt Beth Ann has been doing her thing as long as I can remember."

"Yeah child, she has been in the game a long, long time. I wish I could tell you who, but someone sent the police there. I'll bet my life on it," Ruby assured her. "But you can rest assured it will come to the surface. You can't play in dirt without in staining your clothes. Although yo aunt knew the risk involved in her business, some low life made it possible for it to happen. In other words, yo aunt probably would have closed it down long before the police thought about raiding her house." Ruby stopped and sipped on her drink.

"How long will she have to do in jail?" Tick Tack asked.

"I don't know. Drugs were found in the search. And it's the drugs that will cause her the problems."

"What someone dropped or planted them?"

"I would say someone planted them. There were no drug dealers at the house when it was raided."

"So where did they find the drugs?"

"If we had that answer we would know who brought the police."

"Some people just don't care. It's easy to cause someone else problems, then hide the fake laughs and smile in your face. Some people are just nasty."

"That's pretty mature outlook you have there baby," Ruby said with a smile. "By the way, yo aunt wants you to stay with me until she gets home. We'll know what's up with her in a few days."

"Well I'm good with that. However, tonight I'll stay home and clean up the mess they made of the house. I'll get Charles up…"

"Well child, Charles is a grown man. He was waking himself up before you were born and he can start doing it again. He is not yo problem. Plus sooner or later, when those social workers find out yo aunt is in jail, they'll be coming around lookin' to see what you're doin' and where you're staying, you hear?" Ruby said, interrupting her.

"Yeah."

"You don't want to get caught up in that mess. You're right, I'll just go clean up the mess the police made and get some of my things and bring them here before I go to school. Is that alright?"

"I guess that's alright. But you c'mon over here before you go to school and I'll have you some breakfast ready. Yo aunt doesn't want you down there and we go back like as La-z-boy. We're closer than sardines in a can. I just do what she ask me to do," Ruby said, laughing at her own little humor. " And don't be tryin' to clean up all that mess. Leave some for Charles seein' he'll be livin' there. Just do what you can, okay?"

"Yes," Tick Tack said as she got up from the table and headed for the door. Before opening it, she turned and said, "Thanks for everything," and opened and walked out the door. She did not give Ruby a chance to response. She did not say it for a response.

Tick Tack started cleaning the house as soon as she got back home. She was quiet as possible so as not the disturb Charles who was still lying on the couch. As she cleaned, her thoughts went back to what Ruby had told her about someone sending the police there. She tried to think who would do something so underhanded. No matter how hard she tried, she just could not come up with any names.

When she had finished cleaning up the house, it was late. She was tired but needed to take a shower, in case, she overslept in the morning. When she was done with her shower, she put her nightgown on. She had stopped sleeping with panties on since she turned twelve, except when she was on her period. As she lay in the bed, her mind would not let go of what had happened to her aunt. But sleep finally overtook her and she went into a deep, peaceful sleep. However, something was stirring her back to consciousness. She felt something rubbing between her legs. Something rough was licking and sucking on her breast and blowing unwanted hot air on them. She opened her eyes and saw Charles staring down at her with a look so intense, it caused her body to jerk. She knew it was the Devil himself staring at her with bloodshot eyes. All she was able to say was, "Charles, whatcha doing?" She was for the moment caught up in total confusion. Charles did not say anything. He just continued to stare down at her and massage the lips of her vaginas. She laid there paralyzed, unable to move or comprehend the situation. Her mind would not let her believe it was happening. Then, she had a rude awakening, she realized her nightgown had been pulled up to the shoulders, leaving her nude body exposed for the taking. Another realization came into focus, Charles was nude in her bed with his erect penis pressing against her leg. She tensed up and tried to move, but he was holding her firmly in place. "Charles, don't do this to me," Tick Tack cried out. "Please."

By now Charles was on top of her breathing hard in her face. She fought with herself not to puke from the sour smell of alcohol coming from his mouth. "Please," once again she plead, but in the form of a scream. Charles was not trying to hear anything. It was like this was the moment he had been waiting for. He was lost in his own lust. She tried once again to scream, but this time his hand went over her mouth. As he began to penetrate her roughly, the pain exploded throughout her body and her screams were echoing inside of her own head. Then her mind went void. Charles was savagely pounding into her body as if he was trying to expel the Devil of it. The act itself was brutal, but it only lasted a few seconds, however, the would that he opened up will never heal.

Tick Tack laid there feeling empty, betrayed, and violated as tears flowed down her face. She stared u p at the ceiling, seeing nothing. She did not even realize the ordeal was over. She heard someone talking. When her conscious mind returned, she saw Charles standing at the edge of the bed. "This will be our little secret, okay?" She heard this man say. She could not believe what she was hearing. This is not the man that has been walking around like a zombie. Tick Tack did not bother to say anything, she simply pulled her nightgown down over her body to cover her shame. Charles just walked out of the room without saying anything further.

Tick Tack laid there for a moment. She had been violated and degraded by a man calling himself her father. She began to understand the scheme behind the years he had played the drunk and irresponsible person. He waited for this opportunity. In fact, she believed he created it. He was the one that sent the police to the house and had Aunt Beth Ann and Big Roy arrested. She realized immediately that she had to get up and get out of there or he may think she was inviting him back for seconds. At that moment, she crossed the threshold of childhood into womanhood. He will pay, she promised herself as she hurried to get out of that house.

**CHAPTER 13**

"Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that laughter is heaviness." Proverbs 14:13

Tick Tack left out the back door as soon as she got dressed and gathered a few personal things. She didn't want to wait around for Charles to reenergize himself and come back at her. She realized he had taken her youth and innocence. She knew she would have to become a woman now if she intended on surviving.

When she arrived at Ruby's apartment, Ruby immediately sensed something was wrong. You can call it a woman's intuition. "I thought you were goin' to wait until mornin' to come here, what's wrong?" Ruby asked as she opened the door to let her in.

"Nothing," Tick Tack said without looking Ruby in the eyes. Ruby knew different. If she had even thought Charles had done what he had done to her, he would have been dead that night. Ruby decided to wait her out. She knew like all things, it would come to the surface sooner or later.

Tick Tack could not get to sleep after taking a shower. She still felt dirty, depressed, and angry. She wanted to tell Ruby what had happened, however, she felt it would snatch the taste of payback from her heart and she could not allow that to happen. She could not understand what was stirring up in her. She was feeling hate and resentment with a passion. She needed him to lose something which he did not have right now. She knew she would wait as long as it takes.

Tick Tack got up with very little sleep that morning. After taking another shower she still did not feel clean, however she got dressed. Ruby was already up and fixing breakfast. Tick Tack ate very little and left for school. As she left the building her thoughts and feelings took another turn. She began to cry. May be it was the sight of her house that brought it on, she did not know. What she could not understand was why a man that was supposes to be her father, although he did nothing in that area, could violate her like he did. He treated her like she was trash. He had the nerve to leave five dollars on the night stand as if she was some cheap ho or something. She left the five dollars and any care or concern she may have had for him right on the night stand and sheets he violated her on. She promised herself once again that he will pay an unimaginable price for his sin and transgression.

She did not know how far she had walked. She could not stop crying. She sat on some steps and placed her face in her hands. Then, she heard someone say, "Hey, you alright?" she looked up the stairs and noticed a girl around her own age smiling down at her. At first, she thought she was white until she came down the stairs, then she noticed a tint to her color. "My name is Tiffany Whitmore, but people call me Baby Sister."

"Wow! My name is Tiffany Williams, and I am called Tick Tack," she said in a surprised manner.

"That's cool. Well Tick Tack it sometimes helps to do some girl talking with people you click with. Grown ups do not seem to understand that they were our age once upon a time. You know what I mean? Sometimes we need to find someone to vent that heaviness in our hearts with. The things we hold inside can and will eventually hurt us." Tick Tack could not help but stare at Baby Sister. She was no older than herself, yet she held the understanding of an adult.

"Maybe you're right," Tick Tack said in agreement.

"Well, I live right upstairs. You can come up and kick your shoes off, get comfortable and we can talk about whatever you want to, how do that sound?" Baby Sister asked as she extended her hand to help her up from the steps.

"I like it," Tick Tack said accepting her hand.

Baby Sister was the youngest of five older sisters. They were all pretty and street girls, prostitutes if you prefer. Baby Sister was not yet on the streets, however she knew the game better than the others. Their mother was white, but all of their fathers were black and pimps. Their mother retired from the game some years ago, and it was not hard to see in her younger days she was a head turner. Now, she was slightly overweight and did not put the time and care she had once did into her appearance. Her daughters showered her with nothing but love. They respected her strength and courage. Whenever they were idle in a relationship they would come home until they chose another pimp. Baby Sister had no plans of ever choosing a pimp. She had witnessed too much indifferent in the many relationships her sisters have had. She would turn a date quicker than your heart could beat, it was in her nature and she accepted it.

Baby Sister was Tick Tack's age, fifteen. She turned her first date at the age of twelve, if you want to call it a date. She rubbed a man's penis and got paid. As the saying goes, "They saved the best for last," described her to the tee. She was quite beautiful, in fact more beautiful than her sisters. She was the modern day Mona Lisa, with blondish hair rippling down her back. She had sea green eyes, rosy full lips with a body that promised maturity and perfection. She stood five foot three of total loveliness. You would not believe her age if she told you. You would need to see some identification.

Baby Sister was born with a special gift. She had an IQ of 135 plus and learned at a accelerating pace. She was not only beautiful, but charming, witty, and over qualified for the streets which she loved so much. She had one weakness and that was cocaine. Her sister Spicy, three older than herself turned her on to it during one of her many idled relationships over three years ago.

Spicy was the type that went through wannabe pimps like a baby goes through pampers. She would not deal with pimps of any stature because she would have to work like prostitutes are supposes to work. Her preference was what the real pimps termed, simps. Those that could talk the talk, but could not walk the walk. There were more simps than pimps, so she had quite a selection to choose from.

Spicy was considered a loose cannon on the streets. She was more without a man than she was with one. She was pretty, young, and high spirited. She was content with making just enough money to give her wannabe pimp a few dollars, buy some cocaine, and party, party, party. Then she would go back out get some more money and do the same thing over again. She honestly believed she was just partying with her sister when she turned her on to cocaine. But ignorance is contagious, so is addiction.

Baby Sister was up all night with her sister, snorting cocaine and drinking Morgan David Concord Grape wine. She did not even realize it was morning until she had walked outside of her building and noticed Tick Tack sitting on the steps, apparently crying.

The first thing Tick Tack noticed when she entered the apartment was how nice it was. But what really caught her attention was Baby Sister's room. It had a mixture of childish feminine and yet a mature appearance. Tick Tack immediately became comfortable. "You don't go to school?" Tick Tack asked as she sat on the bed.

"Not anymore."

"Why?"

"I graduated a few months ago."

"How did you do that?" Tick Tack asked looking puzzled and surprised.

"They said I had a high IQ or something like that." Baby Sister said trying to be modest. "I just have the ability to learn and retain information. The school wanted me to go to this University in Boston, but I'm not down with that shit."

"What does your mother think about it?"

"Mom is cool. She liked the idea but she wants me to do what I want to do with my life. I know she has hopes that I would at least think about it."

"Wow, pretty and smart. Now that's a winning combination."

"So are you Tick Tack," Baby Sister insisted.

"I don't feel that way today."

"I'm all ears."

As Tick Tack revealed her shame and humiliation, she could not help but cry. Baby Sister just sat there very attentive as if she was a counselor or something. She felt her pain. "I wouldn't let that dog get away with it." Baby Sister said angrier then she realized she was. She was never raped, but she had this dislike for men. She had witnessed too much abuse by the men her sisters dealt with. She considered them just animals. Hard fists and hard dicks either they would beat you or fuck you.

"We're not as strong as men physically, even drunks. We do have one weapon, it's that pussy. It's the only weapon men cannot make nor conquer. When you can control your emotions, you can control the situation or relationship. Man can take and abuse the body without your permission or cooperation, but not your heart, unless you give it to them. I said all that to say, don't allow what that animal did to you cause you to lose yourself in self-pity. He will reap what he has sown."

Tick Tack found herself smiling. She looked at her new friend with admiration, mainly because she was saying the right things at the right time. She was a fifteen year old going on forty. She knew Baby Sister was right. All the women that use to come to Aunt Beth's house use to tell her many things about men. She never really understood what they were talking about, but now things were becoming clearer. Tick Tack returned home after spending the day with Baby Sister and no longer felt depressed. Charles was now considered an enemy. From that point on she thought of her next move.

Tick Tack would see Charles just standing in front of the house watching her as she went too and from, but never approached her. She knew he was just waiting for an opportunity. But hell would freeze over before she placed herself in such a position again.

Tick Tack and Baby Sister became running buddies. Tick Tack was charmed by Baby Sister's ability to manipulate drug dealers out of cocaine and money. Yes, this was Tick Tack's introduction to cocaine, wine and weeds. They would lie on the bed smoking week and snorting cocaine. Tick Tack was spending more time out of school than in it. She just lost interest.

It was three months after the incident with Charles that opportunity knocked to start the wheels of consequences to rolling. She found out she was pregnant. Hell was about to open its mouth.

At first, she was scared. But Peggy, Baby Sister's mother made her realized that this was a blessing in disguise. "Tick Tack, don't worry baby, we'll get that taken care of immediately. You're too young to have to take care of a baby. I've been down this road more time than I can count. It's what we call an unwanted pregnancy made through improper behavior on someone else part. But now we'll knockout two birds with one stone. Leave it up to me," Peggy assured her. Baby Sister confided in her mother shortly after her and Tick Tack started hanging out and now she had the plan to work everything out.

Tick Tack was learning a lot from Baby Sister's ability to manipulate the so-called drug dealers. She was beginning to understand many of the things she was told and witnessed at her aunt's house. There were a few occasions when both she and Baby Sister had to fuck a dealer it was just business, nothing personal. Baby Sister had learned quite a lot from her sisters over the years and they shared their knowledge with each other. It was easier than Tick Tack had once thought to shut down her feelings. She discovered she was a natural at it.

One night, they were sitting in Baby Sister's room snorting cocaine and smoking weed. Tick Tack was lying on the bed while Baby Sister was at the dresser taking another sniff from the pile. She walked over to the bed and sat down as she placed her arm over Tick Tack's waist. As she looked down into her eyes, there were no words needed to express the moment. They kissed long and deep. Their clothes seemed to just disappear from their bodies. The beauty and motion of these two young girls could only leave you breathless. Baby Sister took the lead as Tick Tack just laid back with her eyes closed. The cocaine, weed and the tenderness of their motions made you want to holler.

Tick Tack knew how to return the pleasure. She had witnessed on many occasions two girls freaking each other out while the date or dates looked on.

Several weeks later, Peggy made it possible for Tick Tack to have an abortion. Ruby informed Charles of his choices, leave, go to jail, or risk being murdered. The only reason Beth Ann agreed to those choices is because Tick Tack asked. She wanted her to taste the taste of vengeance. She wanted her to one day balance the scales of justice. Beth Ann knew that day would come.

Charles, as Tick Tack believed he would choose to leave. They knew for sure now he was his father's son. And the fruit certainly did not fall far from the tree.

Tick Tack left with only the clothes on her back and a few hundred dollars on a bus heading for Atlanta, Georgia to live with Lisa, Beth Ann's sister. She did not want to take anything from her past with her, except her experience.

**CHAPTER 14**

"Our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but you must be responsible as of this moment."

Theopholis Wright Jr. was known to his contemporaries as Wise. Wise was born in Queens, New York on April 11, 1966. He was the only child of the Reverend Theopholis and Patricia Wright.

Wise was considered a bad ass, spoiled, high spirited, and a rebellious youth. The first and last time his mother slapped him, he was unable to taste his food for a whole day. But there was a lesson he learned that he would never forget.

Wise made a comment about the picture hanging on their living room wall. The picture was, "Footprints in the Sand." He said, "The reason there's only one set of footprints in the sand was because God was a punk. He got scared and ran."

Patricia was shocked with contempt and disbelief. Before she had time to think or realized what she had done, she back slapped him to the floor. "Never let me hear you speak of god in that manner ever again." Patricia said trying not to look down at him. But when she heard him crying, the ice in her attitude melted. She knelt on the floor beside him, gathered him up in her arms, and kissed the tears rolling down his little cheeks. "Mommy sorry baby you got be careful what you say because God will punish you for using his name in vain," Patricia said with the compassion only a mother can give. The lesson Wise learned was not the lesion his mother intended. The lesson he learned was how to manipulate his mother.

Wise was a very observant child. Every Sunday in his father's church he would sit in the front row next to his mother dressed in a suit, wearing a bow tie, which he considered a Bozo the clown outfit. His father would preach a sermon that would cause people to jump up and shout. It was not the message that he found amazing, it was the timing his father had to pass the collection pot around. At the height of frenzy, when people were jumping up and shouting, he would say, "When the spirit of god is present, people reach deeper into their wallets and purses."

Although Wise lived in Far Rockaway, Queens, the first six years of school were spent at a predominantly white school, PS 2 in Nassau County. He was an above average student. He had a keen ability of memorization. He never did any studying, yet would pass any and all exams with flying colors.

Miss McJanice was Wises' fifth grade teacher. She was in her early sixties and frail. Her hair was more salt than pepper. She would cater to the few black children in her class. Wise believed she was trying to clear the slate of the prejudice and hatred she and her forefathers once beat on the back of blacks. Perhaps she just thought blacks were stupid and needed special attention. Whichever the reason may have been, Wise used it to his advantage.

While in the fifth grade, Wise wrote a book entitled, "Nooby the Beetle and His Adventures." The table of contents read, Chapter One…Nooby Steals a Care, Chapter Two…Nooby Gets shot, Chapter Three…Nooby Gets stabbed, Chapter Four…Nooby Gets Caught with Two Women, Chapter Five…Nooby Smoke Pot.

Miss McJanice was, to say the least, horrified. She believed that the things he wrote about were a direct result of the shows his parents allowed him to view on television. She sent his to see the school's psychologist, Dr. Brunswick. After completing his preliminary evaluation, Dr. Brunswick's recommendation was to remove Wise from the school. In his written opinion he stated, "Young Mr. Wright has a destructive imagination and his ability to manipulate and attract others into his web of deceitfulness posses a future threat to the safety and well-being to the children of this institution. Therefore, it is imperative for a speedy removal." The question the school administration was left with was how to accomplish this mission.

Dr. Brunswick's determination was based on several questions he had asked Wise about the book he had written. What never became apparent was where Wise learned these things he wrote about, if not from the television. So, Dr. Brunswick considered that his imagination was out of control. However, these things were not imaginary, they were real. They were happening everyday in the hood.

The last two years when Wise was supposed to be going to the recreation center after school, he would walk twenty minutes from his house to the Red Fern Projects, which was in the heart of the ghetto. Everything he wrote about in his book he had witnessed. They were acts committed by different people; however he placed them under one character, Nooby.

He considered his neighborhood the lazy hood. The adrenalin that pumped into his body when he was in the projects brought excitement, thrills and a new adventure that unfolded everyday. No two days were ever the same. He heard the streets calling his name everyday. And everyday he longed to answer the call.

Wise knew he had to have money to hang out. The few dollars allowance his parents gave him would not last long enough to get into his pocket. He had determined he would have to come up with a hustle. He started hanging out at Walbaum's supermarket helping mainly the elderly customer carry their groceries to their car. Many times he would run into members of his father's congregation. These were mostly nosy, old gossipers. They would all ask the same question, "Aren't you reverend Wright's boy?' Wise would give them the same pre-rehearsed answer,

"Yes ma'am, I'm saving to get his a gift for his birthday," or he would use an anniversary or something, but whatever it was he would tell them it was a surprise. They never made mention of seeing him and the tips were usually bigger. That's what made the hustle he was into so sweet.

The school was watching Wise closely. It was decided to send a school representative to his house to speak to his parents because their phone calls were not returned nor were their letters acknowledged. To their pleasant surprise, Wise did not live in the district in which he was registered. Therefore, he did not belong at that school. He was immediately dismissed and transferred to IS 53, in Far Rockaway.

IS 53 was in the heart of the ghetto. Although Wise was excited, he was unaware of the new challenges that awaited him in the new school. IS 53 was not your ordinary school. It was a breeding ground for future thugs, drug dealers, drug users, robbers, thieves, murderers, prostitutes, pimps and whatever you can come up with. The school was so tough, some students could not even use the back stairs because there were gangs of petty bandits lurking to cash in on new sneakers, lunch money or whatever else they were able to take. Unlike his old school where he was top dog, here, he was just a puppy in the midst of ghetto dogs and they were hungry. They were not about to be challenged by someone's bark. Without a bite, you were just considered harmless and had to submit to the powers that be.

Wise was a thinker. When he realized his predicament, he knew that it would not be long before he would have to back up his bark with some teeth. On a regular basis he would tell his small gang that he was going home but instead he headed for the local PAL (Police Athletic League). Here he learned how to box and how to defend himself. At this rate, it would not take long before his newly acquired skills would be ready to put to the test.

He did well in his first fight mainly because of his friend Lowell, who instilled confidence in him and gave him the courage he needed at the time he needed it. The reason he got into the fight in the first place was childish in fact. It was dumb; he did not even remember what it was about because it was just that petty. A Puerto Rican so-called bully nicknamed Lazy Eye said something that did not make a bit-of-sense, but it was enough to act upon. It was something under normal circumstances you would have ignored, but it was time for Wise to prove himself, therefore any excuse would have worked. Wise pushed Lazy Eye; he knew he would get the response he was looking for. Lazy Eye took a swing and before he made contact, he realized he was on the ground. Before the fight really got started, it was over and Wise got his recognition.

Wise picked up a new hustle by the age of twelve. He would go into Lawrence County and hang around the Lawrence golf and Country Club. This was where the rich, but not so famous would spend their leisure time on the golf course. Eventually he was asked to be a caddy. Wise accepted the position but he had bigger plans. When he would go to their cars to retrieve their golf bags, he was amazed by how luxurious their cars were. He would, at times, needed to go into the glove compartment to open the trunk. Many times they would leave their gold money clips, holding hundred dollar bills together, in the glove box. Wise never got greedy but he would take a few bills from the middle of the clip. They never missed them. If they did suspect anything, it was never brought to his attention.

Wise was a good looking, polite, and very articulated young man, depending on whom he was talking with he would tell them how he wanted to be just like them. They loved comments the stroked their ego. Many liked Wise. They started bringing him into the club house as if he was a trophy piece on display. They would bring him to their homes to do odd jobs. He was good with it because he was making money. To Wise, some of the homes were breathtaking and beautiful indeed. His hustle was paying off well.

By the age of fourteen, he was love bitten. Nayrok Turner was a golden brown thirteen year old goddess in his eyes. She was the Housing Authority Maintenance Supervisor's daughter. The girl was a freak he would soon learn. She turned his out to the sex game. Two months into their relationship, Nayrok's father died from throat cancer. Her sexual appetite increased, it went off the charts. Wise was never allowed into her house for some unknown reason. The few times he went to the house to pick her up she never opened the door wide enough to look inside of it, but the smell would permeate through the crack. It would leave your imagination free to create a picture of the inside, which was not good at all.

Nayrok's mother worded the graveyard shift at some plant. So he would take her over to Lowell's house because his mother also worked a graveyard shift. It was convenience for all concerned. However, Wise would soon learn his first lesson in betrayal and the thin line that exist between love, shame, and resentment.

Wise invested a great amount of his time into the relationship. His pockets felt the neglect of not hustling. But it was okay he kept telling himself. He was in love and it made everything right. There were only a few months left of school before summer recess and he had planned Nayrok and his summer down to the last day. He knew he would have to pick up his hustling game soon because the money he had stashed was getting thinner and thinner by the day. He knew in order to carry out his plans he would need more money, but for the time being he would just put everything on hold. He was in love and that made everything good, at least those were his thoughts.

A block party occurred several times a year in the Red Fern Projects. Tonight was the summer vacation party. The three basketball courts were converted into three dance areas with different DJ's spinning his taste of music on each court. Young people were doing the same things, hugging, kissing, fondling, drinking, smoking pot, laughing, and dancing. This was their relief from the long school year. They did not want to think about anything but enjoying themselves.

The reality that some would not return for the next school year, was not entertained. Various reasons would create this situation. Their environment and association would be a direct cause. The projects were a subculture within a culture. They had their own laws and codes of ethics within the laws and norms of society as a whole. Teen pregnancy was extremely high. Drugs, such as alcohol, heroin, cocaine and marijuana were not used for recreational purposes, but for many, as a means to cope with the realities of their lives. It was a means to run form the fears, disappointments, and the reality that there's no short cuts to responsibilities that were you made choices; you had to accept the consequences.

Young people joined gangs to belong to something, to be a part of something bigger than them. The reasons are not really important. The end for most was always the same, injuries, jail, or death.

The block party was at it peak. People were laughing, dancing and drinking. Everyone knew it would not be long before some fool would shoot holes into the clouds.

Wise and Nayrok were walking towards the building to sit on a little bench made of brick. The night had blanketed the sky. The stars were distant and bright. The moon appeared to be wearing a smile. The air was warm, yet comfortable. Wise and Nayrok sat on the bench listening to the different blends of music coming from the courts below as if it was an orchestra playing a symphony that is traveling different routes but coming together in perfect harmony. Wise thought of how beautiful it would be to freeze the moment, to make it last forever. "I planned our whole summer out. You want to hear it?" He asked excitedly.

"I'm sorry, but I'm leaving tomorrow," Nayrok said without showing any signs of disappointment.

"What," Wise said with total surprise. "What do you mean you're leaving? Where are you going?" He knew his questions sounded stupid, but it seemed as if he could not help himself.

"I'm not your wife and my father is gone. I don't have to explain or report my coming and going to you.

"I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I made plans for us. Now…"

"You made plans," she injected cutting him off. "Did you stop to ask me about what I would like to do? This is not about you, it's about me. I gotta go." She jumped up and ran towards the apartment building she lived in.

Wise just sat there watching her, not believing what had just happened. Everything seemed to have gotten quiet. All of a sudden he heard a gun shot go off, people started screaming and running in every direction. The crowd knew from experience to get out the way unless you wanted to become an accident. Wise looked up and thought to himself, 'At least there are no clouds to put holes into.'

The next day Wise called Nayrok only to discover that she had left without saying goodbye. He felt for the first time in his life his world had caved in. For the next several months he was at Red's house, where he always stayed when he was hanging out in the projects. People thought he and Red were brothers. Nayrok never called nor wrote. Wise's whole summer was a fiasco. He was a young man unable to sleep without tossing and turning. He had no appetite and started losing weight. He felt violated and raped of his summer.

A few days before school was to resume, Wise heard Nayrok was back. As he was coming through the parking lot he saw Nayrok coming out of Lowell's building with her hair looking like it had been in a pillow fight. Lowell was right behind her. Wise watched as she turned around, embraced Lowell and they kissed. When she turned to walk away, she noticed Wise approaching. "What's up Nayrok?" Wise asking as if what he had just witness was his imagination playing a trick on him. Nayrok just looked back at Lowell and walked away without say a word. Wise once again watched her as she gave him her back. He turned his attention to Lowell.

Lowell was slightly taller and more broad chested than Wise. He was two years older and had a reputation in the projects for being good with his fists. As a matter of fact, he was the one that encouraged his to fight Lazy Eye. "What's going on Lowell?" Wise asked hesitantly. It was more out of not wanting to hear the truth than fear.

"What do you want to be going on," Lowell asking in a challenging manner.

"What's up with you and Nayrok?"

"She came to me so what was I suppose to do, I'm a man and she is a female. We go together like hand and glove."

"You're supposed to be my friend."

"What are you saying, you're gonna let a piece of ass come between our friendship? It's not personal. She's just a hot bitch that like to get fucked. She is not worth having bad feelings over. Let's move on. If you can't handle it then fuck it nigga." Lowell stood there looking at Wise with a look that said, make a move. Wise decided it wasn't in his best interest to pursue the issue. He thought to himself, 'It's better to walk away with a little pride then to risk losing it all.'

CHAPTER 15

"There is a generation that is pure in their own eyes, and yet is not washed from their filthiness." Proverbs 30:12

Wise felt the knife his so called friend had planted deep into his back. The broken heart from a love he would no longer cherish. But, he refused to allow them to gloat over his wounds. So he channeled all his energy into hustling.

Wise was now attending Far Rockaway High School. When you have made it to this point, the thugs and hoodlums had mostly been weeded out. You still have the wanna-be touch guys here and there. However, they posed no threat. They had more bark than bite.

Wise never had any academic problems. He attended school faithfully. Plus, all the pretty girls were an incentive, indeed. But once the dismissal bell sounded, Wise would be out the door and playing in the streets of brutal reality.

A drug dealer by the name of Panama, driving a white on white Mercedes Benz coupe, made a powerful impression on Wise. Wise would observe young dudes going to Panama's car, dropping something into the passengers' window and being handed what looked like a brown, crumpled up sandwich bag. What Wise did not realize at the moment was crack cocaine was entering Red Fern Projects. Unexpectedly, Wise was about to be swept into an epidemic that would rip through cities, towns and communities like a hurricane, and leaving behind total destruction.

Wise befriended a guy named Wonderful who was recently released from prison. One day, wise asked why he was called Wonderful. This question caused a smile to erupt on his face. He replied with pride, grabbing the inner part of his thigh, "When I lay this pipe in a bitch she gives birth to a multiple of orgasms." Wise did not find Wonderfuls' remark all that humorous; in fact he was sorry he asked. However, he liked him nevertheless because he had Lowell's sister Nandee running around like a mouse caught in a maze. Lowell hated to see his sister act so foolishly over a man, especially knowing Wonderful was just playing her.

Lowell brought it to Wise. "Hey Wise, it's not right how your boy is fucking over my sister.

"I don't have anything to do with that, but I can offer you some advice."

"And what's that?" Lowell asked not suspecting anything.

"Charge it to the game. It's all in the hustle." Wise said without blinking. "It's not personal."

"This is personal, it's different," Lowell replied with anger in his voice. This time Wise held his ground. They stood eye to eye.

"What makes you think Nayrok wasn't personal? This issue is between you and Wonderful, not me. So if you need to express an attitude, or your feelings, take it to him." With that said, Wise turned and walked away. He knew Lowell would never confront Wonderful. Wonderful was not only good with his fists, but he was a gutter fighter, which simply meant, anything is fair by any means necessary.

Wonderful needed a job to keep the parole officer off his ass. He helped him secure one at the Country Club doing lawns and grounds. One day after work he and Wise got together in Red Fern. They were standing outside the first basketball court watching several young kids playing a game of hoop. They were not really talking about anything when they noticed Nandee approaching. "Can I talk to you for a minute Wonderful?" She asked as if her next breath depended on his answer. Wonderful exploded.

"Bitch, you don't see me and my man rappin'. Besides lacking good looks, you're a ghetto bitch without manners," Wonderful said as if he was the night in shining armor. He turned his attention back to Wise with a smile wide enough to sail a battle ship through. "You see what I mean bro, but it's the price you must pay when you're simply wonderful." Wise could not help but laugh. However, his laughter was not from what Wonderful had said, rather, it was from belittling Lowell's sister.

Wonderful was five years older than Wise. He stood about six foot even and weighed a solid one hundred and eighty-five pounds with a medium brown complexion. A baseball cap was his trademark and you would rarely see him without one. He had served a three and a half years in Comstock State Prison located in New York State, known as Gladiators school for various assault charges.

As they were watching the basketball game, Nandee turned and walked away with a sad expression on her face and no one thought anything about it. Wise noticed at this time Panama pulling up to a parking space not far from them. As always young guys would start arriving at his car. "What's going on over there," Wise asked Wonderful pointing in the direction of the white Mercedes.

"That's Panama, he's bringing the crack game into the hood." Wonderful stated with pride because he was up on what was going on.

"Crack!"

"Yeah, some brain head came up with converting cocaine into some smokable shit. It's just another form of "Freebasing" made cheaper. I tried some of that shit once and it's a mothafucka. It will run you crazy. Give me a drink and some weed and I'm good. He's recruiting young dudes to work for him. This crack game is going to take off like an Apollo space rocket," Wonderful said looking at Wise who seemed distant. "What's on your mind bro?"

"I was just thinking about what you had said," Wise said not really wanting to share his inner thoughts.

"What part?"

"All of it," Wise switched his thoughts back to the present. Wonderful had told him about a buddy of his named Quik who had a good hustle. They would meet up soon, hopefully tomorrow.

Quik was short, between five for six, medium built Hispanic with stringy black hair he kept slicked down with gel. Not only did he thing he was cute, he really thought he was Italian. He watched far too many gangster movies. What was unknown to Wise at the time was that Quik and Wonderful were burglarizing apartment houses, and whatever else they could get into. This night they were going to break into an apartment in Wave Crest Gardens, an upper middle class apartment complex in Far Rockaway. Wave Crest Gardens was located on Seagirt Boulevard. It consisted of eight, six story condominiums. Although the lawns were immaculately cared for and the entire scene could have been found in a travel brochure, somewhere in the caption you would have read, "Niggas keep out."

Wise saw all this for himself a few days later when he decided to tag along on one of their burglary adventures. It was an unusually dark night when they met for their escapade. Quik walked a few steps ahead of Wise and Wonderful. Quik stopped in front of apartment number 106. Before Wise and Wonderful made it to the apartment, Quik had the door opened and walking inside. Once they were all inside, Quik closed the door. "How did you get the door open so fast?" Wise asked with curiosity.

"That's why I'm called Quik," he answered in a tone of pride in his skills.

"How did you do it? Wise asked again, trying to learn the secret.

"It's a trade secret. If I tell you, I gotta kill you man and I don't want to have to do that because I like you man."

"Enough of the bullshit lets just see what goodies we have here and then get out."

After searching through the apartment, they had collected a number of items, a VCR, a scanner, two 19" Panasonic color television sets with remotes, a few pieces of jewelry, and about hundred dollars in cash. Quik went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, pulled out a TV dinner and placed it into the microwave. Wised looked at Wonderful then back to Quik. "I know this cat isn't serious?" Wise stated not believing what he was witnessing.

"I gotta make sure it works," Quik said in defense of his actions.

"It works, let's go we've been in here far too long," Wise demanded.

"If you're scared get a dog playa," Quik responded sarcastically.

"Wonderful tell me this dude have not lost his mind?" At that moment the thought of getting caught crossed Wise's mind. "I'm outta here," he said heading towards the door. He knew at that moment that burglary was not his calling. They got everything to the car and safely drove off into the night. Wise knew this would be his last time he would find himself in such a compromising situation.

The following day Wise approached Panama. He walked over to the car and leaned over to the open passenger's window. That was the first close up look he had gotten at the man called Panama.

Panama was slim built with a walnut complexion. He wore his hair short but you could tell he used painstaking patience to establish the waves running from front to back. His hair looked like a black ocean of waves. His eyes were hazel. He sporte4d a trimmed mustache and had flawless skin. He dressed casual, yet everything from his loafers on up appeared new.

"What's up baby boy," Panama asked without changing the expression on his face. Wise wondered how old Panama was. Looking at him you would think he was in his early twenties, yet, his mannerisms said he was a lot older.

"I wanna work," Wise stated.

"Really now, whatcha good at," he asked taking the position of an interviewer.

"I'm a hustler."

"And what do you hustle?"

"Whatever is in demand."

"What's your name, hustler?"

"Wise."

"You live around here, Wise?"

"It's my playground."

"I hear that hot shit," Panama said, with a broad smile.

"Come back and see me tomorrow," he said as he turned the car on and put it into gear. Wise stepped back from the car as it leaped from the curve. The car moved like a tiger on its tiptoes. As he watched the car blend into the cityscape, Wise thought to himself, 'I'll step my game up one day. One day I'll shine bright and drive nice.'

Everyday for a week, Wise would approach Panama. He would stand outside of the car and be interrogated. That's what it felt like to him. Everyday Panama would tell him the same thing, to come back and see him tomorrow. Wise didn't get discouraged because he had a strong belief system. He knew patience had its own reward.

Wise attributed that to his father's teaching. Hebrew 10:35 said, "Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompense of reward." And Hebrew 11:1, "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." These scriptures Wise had heard from early childhood. He believed they held the power to his future. However, what he had failed to realize at the time, if your mind, the tree is bad, it can only produce bad fruit.

The next day, as wise approached Panama's car, he heard the power door locks engage. "Get in Wise, let's talk some business." Wise got into the car and when he sat in the seat, it contoured to his body.

"Damn!" Wise said. Panama pulled away from the curb.

"I like your style, young playa. We can make lots of money together if you can follow a few basic rules. Before we get into them, let me give you a brief history and future projection of this new drug they got out called, crack cocaine. Cocaine originated, it's believed from China. Some believe Bolivia, others say Columbia, but we don't care if it came from the moon.

People have been using cocaine farther back than you can count. People such as Einstein, Freud, and Hitler were users; this may be able to account for their outrageous behaviors at times. However, our concern is not the past, it's about the present and future." Panama paused as if he was caught up in some thought, but he continued immediately. "The reasons for their use, we don't give-a-damn. We're not in the rehab business. There are several theories about how crack came into play. Some believe it is the governments mean of genocide. They made it to put into the ghetto across the United State to rid themselves of the black population. Others believe that high level drug lords had chemists create it. Now on the lower end of the spectrum, a few believe drugs addicts stumbled upon it as a means to achieve a quicker high. But bottom line is, we don't give-a-damn how it got here, it's here. You hear baby boy?" He continued without waiting for a response.

This crack cocaine will become bigger than the invention of the telephone. Our job is not to theorize, but supply it. People are to crack like the rats followed the pier piper. In the next five years or so the use of crack will reach epidemic proportion. Money will be coming like tricks in a ho house. It will be flowing like rain, so we must build a Noah's ark. I say this because I have witnessed to power of this drug. If you use, you lose. There's no middle ground. Do you understand? Panama waited for a response but never taking his eyes off the road.

"I completely understand. I don't smoke, drink and using drugs is out of the question. I'm about money and more money," Wise spoke with sincerity and conviction.

"A man cut from the same cloth. I like that, baby boy," Panama said, glancing over at Wise, taking his eyes briefly off the road. "I'm going to start you out with a five hundred dollar package of ten dollar vials. You get twenty off every hundred dollars. Now, before you decide to accept I want you to entertain this thought; I'll take you to a level of deception that will crumble your world if you fuck with my money. My arms have a long, long reach. What you do with your money is your own business, but what's you owe me get it to me. If you have no problem with that the ball is in your court, pass or shoot, baby boy."

"I have no problem with that, I'll shoot."

Chapter 16

"Who said it, "Out of the frying pan into the fire?""

Wise started hustling crack, yet he continued to go to school. His style of dressing became very fashionable, but he did not squander his money. He knew, one day opportunity would knock and it would be his time to branch out on his own. He was stashing his money just for that time. He had plans, big plans.

In school, wise would use his spare time gambling in the bathroom or on the blind side of the handball court in the school yard. There they couldn't be seen by nosy people peering out of the school windows. He had a rival who they labeled Young MC because he did a little rapping here and there, but nothing big. He wasn't a major league player by any means. However, he thought he was hot shit. Wise considered him just a duck in a pond. Whenever there was a game going on and the dice would roll, he would always bet opposite and it was alright with Wise because he liked his money better than the rest of the players in the game. It was personal for some reason.

One day, the dice were rolling hard. Wise was hitting sevens like a slave master hitting a run away slave. Young Mc was sweating every roll as if he was standing under a shower. Wise was enjoying seeing him aggravated. When all of a sudden out of the corner of his eye he saw what appeared to come out of someone's wet dream. She was so beautiful, you needed sunglasses to look at her sunshine complexion. Her long hair bounced with each step. Everything stopped as all eyes watched as she approached the crowd and stopped in front of Young MC. Her words were unheard, but Young MC felt it was a great opportunity to show his ass. "Bitch, I don't have time for…" Before he could finish she was turning on her heels walking away. If you thought the front view, with her perfectly formed breasts pushing out of her tight fitted sweater, the tight mini skirt that left very little to the imagination, was breathtaking, you would have fallen over yourself viewing her from behind. An architect couldn't build a better design. You just can't out do Mother Nature. "this shit." He said, trying to chase his words behind her. "Don't interrupt me when my money is on the line bitch." He turned back to the crowd like he was the man. Wise wasn't impressed, in fact he felt the niggah played himself and his loss would be his gain.

"My number is seven, let them roll. It's not about bullshit, it's about dough," Wise said as the dice left his hand.

The following week in school, as fate would have it, Wise turned from his locker and bumped right into the taste of victory. "What a pleasant surprise," Wise said inhaling deeply the beautiful smell of her closeness, which caused his nostrils to flare. "My name is Wise and yours?"

"Nicole and I know who you are."

"Now I feel at a disadvantage. You know me and I would love to get to know you. So how do we work this out?"

"What do you suggest?" Nicole asked with softness in her voice that would captivate the attention of a deaf man.

"Your man and I don't vibe. So…"

"That niggah ain't my man. My man doesn't disrespect me as if I don't have any feelings or level of pride in myself." You could sense the bitterness behind each word. "I don't know what made his think he had it going on like that, but being wrong has a price attached to it."

"Damn," Wise said showing the expression of sincerity, yet finding his heart jumping for joy. "I don't find that hard to believe at all he is quite a character. This is our luck day. Good things have come to those who have waited. How do lunch sounds to you?"

"Sound good."

"There pizzas shop right down the block. We can have a bite to eat and see what we have in common, or if this is going to be a one night affair."

"I like the sound of that," Nicole responded and added, "Do you have a car?"

"Do I need a car?"

"You're answering a question with a question."

"No, I just needed to know if having a car is importance."

"It's not important and I am sorry if I made it sound that way."

"In that case, no I do not have a car," Wise said knowing Nicole was, for the moment, dazzled by his charm. But how long can a snake be charmed before your power to charm loses its effectiveness?

Panama was rarely seen in the hood nowadays. He had transferred most of the responsibilities of recruiting, distributing and collections over to Wise. Wise had a knack for business. Business was booming, but so was competition. Crack and weapons were being poured into every inner city across the country at an unbelievable rate. Reports of gun battles over territories were emerging everywhere. Panama watched the news daily to sty abreast of the developments of the crack epidemic that was building momentum.

Panama spotted Wise by the basketball court at Redfern. He pulled up and motioned Wise to come to the car. Wise finished the transaction he was doing and walked over to the car. Panama just snapped the locks to attention. He was driving a newer model Mercedes; this one was black with black leather interior. "Let's take a spin away from this neighborhood. I got some rap for you," Panama said as he pulled into traffic.

"How's school going," Panama asked not taking his eyes off the traffic.

"It's alright. I'll be glad when it's over."

"Hang in there, playa. You only got a short time left. How are you and Nicole doing?"

"Great."

"Have you been watching to news?" Wise turned slightly glancing at Panama, wondering where this was leading.

"No, I don't have time to watch any news. I have things to do, place to go and money to make." Wise capping the conversation off actually believing he was saying something slick.

"I hear you young playa. In order for you to stay on top of your game, you must stay informed on what's happening around you. The crack game is escalating. A lot of new playas are coming aboard the gravy train. They're bringing guns and violence. They're terrorizing projects, city blocks, and whole neighborhoods. If you're weak, you'll have to stand down. They're playing for keeps, no holds barred. If you're going to continue playing, you must be willing and ready to defend what's yours. Do you hear what I'm saying to you?"

"I'm not going to allow anyone to do anything to me. Nor will I allow anyone to infringe on my territory," Wise said with conviction.

Panama reached under the arm rest and brought out a gun. This is a Smith and Wesson stub nose .38 revolver. It's one of the most reliable hand guns in the world. For years the .38 was standard police issue. Recently to compete with the fire power on the streets, they have switched to the 9mm. The .38 revolver has six rounds, carbon fiber cylinder and a rubber fitted hand grip."

"I saw one nickel plated with a pearl handle. God was it pretty."

"No, baby boy, always go with blue steel because it blends into the night. There may come a time when your bluff will be called. You will have to fold or plays that hand you're dealt. This snub nose will help you enforce or backup your move," Panama said handing him the gun. Wise just looked at it in his hand. He felt a surge of power running through his body. He felt like a God who held the power of life and death in his hand. 

Chapter 17

"Who keepeth the law is a wise son, but he that is a companion of riotous men, shameth his father." Proverbs 28:7

Theopholis Wright was born Thomas Felt, in Chicago, during the prohibition era. He understood the depth of poverty better than most. Everyday of his childhood was a struggle to stay alive. He remembered very little about his mother and nothing about his father. He had no siblings that he was aware of. At the age of eight, he woke up to find himself alone. His mother never returned home. He would hunt for food with the scavengers, cats and dogs of the streets. His home became cardboard boxes, hallways, bus and train stations, but he learned how to survive.

At the age of ten, he wanted to be a pimp. He was charmed by their ability to have women hustling on the streets at zero degree weather. However, he abandoned that idea right away. By the age of twelve, a street hustler by the name of SoftShu took him under his wing. SoftShu was tagged with his name because he could tap dance a bird from its nest. The grace of his movements could cause you to break out in a cold sweat. SoftShu thought dancing on the stage of a theater was child's play. The streets were his stage, its players were his audience and that was his greatest challenge.

SoftShu was five foot eight with a slim build, light complexion and a pleasing personality. He was never seen outside his home without a suit and tie. His shoes shined like a light reflecting off a diamond. His hustle was a confidence man. He would sell you the rights to your own dreams. He would make you believe if it wasn't for him, you would be void of dreams and you needed dreams to kick start your imagination. They were the gateway to the soul.

SoftShu was in his fifties, how far into them; your guess would be as good as the next person. He had watched Thomas for some time playing on his stage before he decided to put him under his wing and gave him the name Theopholis, the chosen one.

SoftShu lived on the north side of Chicago, on the border of the ghetto. He owned a one family home. He had no wife or kids. He would take a girlfriend to a motel, but never to his home. His home was his castle, not a rest haven for bitches, leaching Niggas or playa haters. Theopholis was the first street person to enter into his castle. When he crossed the threshold, SoftShu said, "You're the Prince of this castle, respect it and it will safeguard you from the outside world."

Not only did SoftShu legally changed Thomas' name to Theopholis, he enrolled him back in school. Theopholis returned to school with a new feeling of pride and self-worth. He became an excellent student and excelled rapidly because now he had direction and purpose.

A powerful bond grew between Theopholis and SoftShu. It was more than a father and son. It was built on respect, trust, and admiration. SoftShu taught his the trade secrets of the confidence game, but made it very clear, the streets were old and getting older. There were new playas coming into the game bringing new scams and new technology. He would constantly inform him, his mission in life would be revealed in time.

Time was fleeing like roaches when the lights are turned on. Twelve years had passed. Theopholis was now twenty-four years old. He stood six foot two, with a solid build and light complexion. His hair was jet black and wavy, which he kept groomed and short. He had just received his bachelor's Degree from the University of Illinois. SoftShu, for the first time in his life, was at a lost for words. He proudly watched his son walk across the stage and receive his diploma. SoftShu looked up and said, in a low whisper, "God, you have kept me from the hardships of the streets. You've kept greed from my heart and violence out of my path. Today my promise to you is fulfilled. Today I've witnessed my salvation."

On their way to the car, walking through the school's parking lot, SoftShu just dropped to the pavement. Theopholis immediately knelt down beside him, believing he had just fallen. When he turned him over, his open eyes had no life, but the smile on his lips spoke a thousand words, SoftShu was dead.

Theopholis took the death of SoftShu, his mentor, his friend and the only father he had ever known, the only person that gave him unconditional love, very hard. For week he isolated himself behind the walls of his castle. He washed himself in self-pity. He wondered what he could have done to prevent it. But he reasoned with himself that he never saw it coming. 'Why? Here's a man that never had a bad word to say to anyone. Here was a man that took me from the streets of doom and gave me a new life. Here was a man that never asked for anything in return. How do I repay such a debt?' He thought to himself.

At that moment, a powerful feeling, or what he would later describe as a spiritual intervention washed over him. It was as if SoftShu was in the room with him. His voice was clear and strong. "To win in life, is to win souls for God. This is the blessing of eternity. You are the chosen one. I saved you so you could save many." Theopholis knew what his mission in life was now. He sold the house that SoftShu had left him and everything else he didn't need. He packed everything into the car and headed for Queens, New York, where he entered a school as a student of theology, to become a minister for God.

Nearly thirty-two years later he sat at his kitchen table looking down at a box of thirty-eight revolver shells, a bag of crack cocaine in vials, and a plastic bag full of money which he had gotten out of his son's room. 'Where did I go wrong? I've saved many, but lost my own son.' He thought to himself. He grabbed the bag of crack and headed for the bathroom. He flushed its contents in the toilet.

"Theo," his father called out when he heard Wise entering the house. Wise walked into the kitchen. His attention immediately fell to the articles on the table where his father was sitting. "I had heard you were selling drugs in Redfern, but I really did not want to believe my son would be a contributor to defiling the life and soul of others, and to profit from their suffering and weaknesses. I am appalled by your behavior and your insensitivity for others. Rumors were so abundant they caused my suspicion to be aroused. I took the liberty of searching your room and these things jumped out at me like the whores of Babylon when traders entered the market place."

Wise just stood there unmoved by his father's speech. He knew this day was coming. He had often wondered why it was taking so long. He did not see the crack on the table and hoped that may be it had not been found. However, he knew that was unlikely, because everything was in the same place. He was just wondering where it was at.

"All I can do is lead you to the water, I cannot make you drink. You have become the prodigal son. You want to live in the belly of the beast. You want to squander your blessings in the valley of the dead. You want to waste the substances of you life with riotous living. The road you're traveling belongs to the Devil. He does not have partners or friends. There is only hell to catch on your road. I can assure you of that. You have exposed me and your mother to the dangers associated with drugs and violence." Theopholis said as he waved his hand over the items on the table. "The drugs, I flushed them down the toilet…"

"You had no right to do that," Wise said interrupting and belligerently.

"Oh yes I did, they were in my house, not your house. Get you own house and you can have whatever you want in it. And the only person's life you would be endangering would be your own. You can stay or go, it's up to you. If you stay, I'm not accepting this kind of behavior. If you go the ball is in your court you can do whatever turns you on. All I can do is pray that God will one day bring you from the darkness into the light of the living."

He stared at his son who was a mirror image of himself so many years ago. Wise stood six foot one and some change. He had his father's complexion; however his father noticed he was heavier at that age. 'It's the streets,' he thought to himself. 'they will eat you up.' He knew there was nothing he could do; it was up to Wise to make choices for his life. Right or Wrong he would have to make them.


End file.
